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CIRCLING 
"  CAMPS 


J.A.ALTSHELER 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/incirclingcampsrOOalts 


IN   CIRCLING  CAMPS 


By  J.  A.  ALTSHELER. 


A  Herald  of  the  West. 

An  American   Story   of  1811-1815. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  portion  of  our  history  that  has  not  before  been 
successfully  embodied  in  fiction.  .  .  .  Extremely  well  writ- 
ten, condensed,  vivid,  picturesque,  and  there  is  continual 
action.  ...  A  rattling  good  story,  and  unrivaled  in  fiction 
for  its  presentation  of  the  American  feeling  toward  England 
during  our  second  conflict." — Boston  Herald. 

"Holds  the  attention  continuously.  .  .  .  The  book 
abounds  in  thrilling  attractions.  .  .  .  It  is  a  solid  and 
dignified  acquisition  to  the  romantic  literature  of  our  own 
country,  built  around  facts  and  real  persons." — Chicago 
Times-  Herald. 

"  'A  Herald  of  the  West '  is  a  romance  of  our  history 
which  has  not  been  surpassed  in  dramatic  force,  vivid  color- 
ing, and  historical  interest."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

A  Soldier   of    Manhattan, 

And  his  Adventures  at  Ticonderoga 
and   Quebec. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

"The  story  is  told  in  such  a  simple,  direct  way  that  it 
holds  the  reader's  interest  to  the  end,  and  gives  a  most  ac- 
curate picture  of  the  times." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Graphic  and  intensely  interesting.  .  .  .The  book  may 
be  warmly  commended  as  a  good  specimen  of  the  fiction 
that  makes  history  real  and  living." — San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 

The  Sun  of  Saratoga. 

A  Romance  of  Burgoyne's  Surrender. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

"Taken  altogether,  'The  Sun  of  Saratoga*  is  the  best 
historical  novel  of  American  origin  that  has  been  written 
for  years,  if  not,  indeed,  in  a  fresh,  simple,  unpretending, 
unlabored,  manly  way,  that  we  have  ever  read." — New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  A  sprightly  and  spirited  romance  gracefully  written 
in  a  crisp,  fresh  style  that  is  simply  delightful  to  read." — 
Philadelphia  Press. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


IN   CIRCLING   CAMPS 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 


BY 

JOSEPH   A.   ALTSHELER 

AUTHOR   OF 

A  HERALD  OF  THE  WEST,  A  SOLDIER  OF  MANHATTAN, 

THE   SUN   OF   SARATOGA,    ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1900 


Copyright,  1900, 
By   D.    APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — The  plat  of  words 1 

II. — A   MODEST   ARRIVAL 11 

III. — A   SOLDIER   OF   THE    REPUBLIC 18 

IV. — A    SKY   OF   STEEL 26 

V. — Making  a  ruler 32 

VI. — An  evening  with  Varian 44 

VII. — The  sheen  of  the  spears 54 

VIII. — The  call  of  the  drum 61 

IX. — The  penetration  of  Shaftoe 66 

X. — A  Southern  home 73 

XI. — The  little  church  of  Shiloh        ....  90 

XII. — With  the  vanguard 104 

XIII. — The  unbidden  guest 113 

XIV. — The  drunken  squad's  last  stand  .        .        .        .119 

XV. — The  song  of  the  shell 130 

XVI. — The  night  between 139 

XVII. — The  second  day 145 

XVIII. — A  stray  shot 150 

XIX. — When  my  eyes  opened 156 

XX. — A  beneficent  jailer 163 

XXI. — The  time  to  act 171 

XXII. — The  prize  of  daring 184 

XXIII. — The  wind  among  the  trees 191 

XXIV. — "  Whither  thou  goest,  i  will  go  "        .        .        .  196 

v 


vi  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV. — The  flight  across  the  hills    ....  201 

XXVI.— At  Last  Chance 213 

XXVII.— Prisoners  of  Varian 222 

XXVIII.— One  woman's  way 231 

"XXIX. — With  friendly  foes 242 

XXX. — Within  old  Libby's  walls        ....  248 

XXXI. — Before  the  generals 259 

XXXII. — On  a  narrow  stage 264 

XXXIII. — In  the  wilderness 271 

XXXIV.— A  man  of  heart 283 

XXXV. — The  heralds  of  Lee 296 

XXXVI.— The  price  of  shoes 309 

XXXVII. — The  Bucktails  grow  angry      ....  319 

XXXVIII. — Battle's  shift  and  change       ....  331 

XXXIX. — The  clicking  of  the  wires       ....  340 

XL. — The  tale  that  Pembroke  told        .        .        .  347 

XLI. — A   MAN  BORN  TOO   LATE 355 

XLIL— The  Devil's  Den 366 

XLIII. — High-water  mark 386 

XLIV. — The  field  of  the  slain 400 

XLV. — The  last  of  a  later  Roman    ....  407 

XLVI. — The  call  of  the  plough 414 


IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    PLAY    OF    WORDS 

They  were  dancing  in  the  ballroom,  and  the  music — 
the  light  flow  of  an  Austrian  waltz — rippled  through  the 
halls,  the  careless  notes  of  the  melody,  played  on  such 
a  night,  returning  to  me  with  a  sinister  echo.  Yet  the 
touch  of  foreboding  was  faint,  and  I  felt  that  it  was 
alike  folly  and  bad  taste  to  be  sad  when  others  laughed. 

"  And  I  hear  that  he  has  turned  back,"  said  Varian, 
in  cool,  precise  tones.  "  A  President  without  a  nation 
or  a  nation  without  a  President,  which  is  it? — either  or 
both?  Now,  being  elected  President,  which  no  one  de- 
nies, why  does  not  Lincoln  come  to  claim  his  own?  " 

This  was  news  that  he  told,  and  I  felt  a  quickening 
of  my  blood.  Unwelcome  though  his  words  were,  I 
would  have  asked  him  to  speak  more  fully;  but  I  saw 
Elinor's  face,  and  knowing  from  the  quiver  of  her  lips 
that  she  was  about  to  take  up  the  thread  of  the  talk,  I 
was  silent. 

"  Turned  back,  do  you  say,  Mr.  Varian?  "  she  asked. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that  Mr.  Lincoln  is  not  now 
on  the  way  to  Washington? — that  the  man  whom  the 
people  have  chosen  to  be  their  President  is  not  per- 
mitted to  come  to  the  capital?  " 

A  flush  due  chiefly  to  indignation  rose  to  her  cheeks, 
and  her  blue  eyes,  as  clear  and  direct  as  her  question, 

1 


2  IN  CIRCLING.  CAMPS 

looked  into  Varian's.  Anger,  if  it  be  without  sacri- 
fice of  dignity,  becomes  a  beautiful  woman;  and  having 
no  cause  to  like  Varian,  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
forgive  him  when  I  saw  the  look  of  admiration  on  his 
face.  To  show  a  proper  appreciation  of  Elinor  Maynard 
was  to  prove  one's  own  good  sense. 

"  I  heard  in  the  ballroom  a  half  hour  ago,"  re- 
plied Varian,  smiling  a  little  and  showing  his  even 
white  teeth — "  Tourville,  the  man  from  South  Carolina, 
I  think  it  was  who  told  me — that  Lincoln  came  as  far  as 
Harrisburg  to-day,  became  frightened  there,  because  of 
a  conspiracy  here  to  kill  him,  carry  off  his  Presidential 
Chair,  or  commit  some  other  deed  of  violence  repugnant 
to  a  peaceful  Illinois  rail  splitter,  and  promptly  facing 
about,  fled  to  Philadelphia." 

I  had  been  trying  to  decide  for  a  long  time  whether 
I  liked  Varian.  He  was  a  man  of  many  facets,  and  each 
glittered  with  a  different  light.  His  ease  of  manner, 
his  careless  air,  his  long  life  in  the  Old  World,  and  the 
inability  of  any  one  to  say  whether  he  was  American 
or  European  by  birth,  which  lent  to  his  name  a  certain 
agreeable  mystery,  made  him  an  interesting  figure 
among  us,  while  none  could  deny  the  charm  of  his  con- 
versation or  his  knowledge  of  a  larger  and  more  com- 
plex society  than  ours.  I  fancy  it  was  the  latter  quality 
that  made  him  attractive  to  young  men  like  Pembroke 
and  myself. 

But  at  the  present  moment  I  was  sure  that  I  did 
not  like  him.  The  facet  that  he  was  presenting  to  our 
gaze  gave  forth  a  light,  repellent — to  me  at  least.  He 
seemed  to  cheapen  alike  the  nation  and  the  crisis  at 
the  verge  of  which  it  stood,  and  the  look  that  he 
bent  upon  Elinor  was  a  little  bolder  than  I  liked, 
perhaps  a  little  freer  than  the  usage  of  our  country 
favoured. 

"  This  retreat  is  only  for  the  moment,"  said  Elinor, 
whose  high  blood,  I  knew,  was  aflame.     "  Lincoln  will 

RBC 
NcU 


THE  PLAY  OP  WORDS  3 

start  again,  and  we  shall  all  see  him  become  President 
upon  the  appointed  day." 

She  spoke  with  the  spirit  of  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman,  having  a  mind  not  inferior  to  her  youth  and 
beauty.  Varian's  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  the  gleam 
of  admiration  in  them  deepened.  There  was  a  strange 
attraction  about  Elinor  Maynard  that  drew  all  men, 
an  illusive  charm  that  I  have  never  known  in  any 
other  woman.  I  think  it  was  the  peculiar  mingling 
of  Northern  and  Southern  blood  in  her  veins,  the 
odd  grafting  of  Massachusetts  stock  upon  Kentucky 
soil. 

Varian's  eyes  lingered  upon  her,  and  the  admiration 
in  his  look  remained  unrepressed.  I  noticed  with  a 
slight  contraction  of  the  heart  his  deepening  anxiety 
to  please  her,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  called  to 
his  aid  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world  and  women, 
learned  in  lands  older  and  more  polished  than  ours.  As 
I  read  his  eyes  then  he  coveted  this  maid,  and  yet  I 
knew  that  I  had  no  right  to  blame  him,  since  he  was  not 
alone  in  such  a  wish.  He  was  older  than  Pembroke  or 
I,  but  his  youth  was  not  wholly  passed.  He  seemed  to 
me  to  be  at  an  age  dangerous  to  women. 

"  A  newsboy  is  calling  his  wares,"  I  said;  "  perhaps 
the  papers  are  telling  of  Lincoln's  flight." 

I  raised  the  window  a  little,  but  I  could  hear  only 
the  call  and  not  its  significance.  The  chill  February 
air  blew  in,  but  the  night  -outside  was  silent  save  for  the 
newsboy's  cry  and  the  rattle  of  a  lone  soldier's  bayonet 
as  they  changed  the  guard.  I  shut  the  window  and 
then  heard  only  ourselves  and  the  music  from  the  ball- 
room. 

Paul  Warner,  our  host,  heavy  and  fussy,  joined  us. 
He  was  a  large,  fat  man,  with  pouchy,  black  rings  under 
his  eyes,  and  a  variety  of  jewels  on  his  fingers.  He 
reeked  of  his  wealth,  and  I  often  reflected  that  I  had 
never  seen  two  more  unlike  than  Paul  Warner,  Govern- 


4  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

ment  contractor  and  rich  man,  and  his  niece,  Elinor 
Maynard. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  the  last  half  hour, 
Elinor,"  he  said,  in  short,  gasping  sentences,  spread- 
ing out  his  hands  in  a  deprecatory  gesture  until  the 
rings  upon  them  flashed  in  the  gaslight.  "  A  dozen 
people  have  asked  me  where  you  are,  and  I  could  not 
tell  them.  I  have  prepared  for  you  the  finest  ball  of 
the  season,  and  you  have  fled." 

"  We  were  discussing  important  news,  uncle,"  said 
Elinor. 

"And  what  is  that,  my  dear  niece?" 

"  Mr.  Lincoln  came  no  farther  than  Harrisburg,  and 
has  returned  from  there  to  Philadelphia,  to  escape,  it  is 
said,  a  plot  to  kill  him." 

"  Do  you  know  this  to  be  a  fact?  " 

"  I  am  responsible  for  the  statement  so  far  as  this 
room  is  concerned,"  said  Varian,  "  and  I  have  no  doubt 
of  its  truth." 

Mr.  Warner  dropped  his  lids  over  his  eyes  until  the 
beam  from  them  narrowed  to  a  point,  sharp  and  pene- 
trating. The  vulgarity  of  his  manners  disappeared  for 
the  time,  and  he  was  the  shrewd,  alert  business  man 
looking  into  the  future.  I  was  willing  to  wager  with 
an  invisible  opponent  that  I  knew  the  trend  of  Paul 
Warner's  thoughts. 

"  If  Lincoln  has  gone  back  it  means  that  the  capital 
is  to  be  left  to  the  South,  and  that  has  the  savour  of 
speedy  war,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  war  anyhow,  but  the 
flight  of  Lincoln  will  hasten  it.  The  South  has  her 
mind  made  up;  she  is  able  and  decided,  while  the  North 
is  lazy,  doubting,  and  negligent.  Who  could  have 
thought  that  each  section  would  show  qualities  the 
exact  opposite  of  those  we  associate  with  it!  " 

He  seemed  to  be  thoughtful,  and  I  might  have 
added  as  a  spur  to  his  reflections  that  war  demanded 
supplies    which    made    possible    large    contracts    and 


THE  PLAY  OP   WORDS  5 

equally  large  profits  for  the  wary  and  tolerant,  but  I 
thought  it  neither  necessary  nor  polite.  The  beam  in 
his  eye  changed  to  a  twinkle,  and  I  saw  that  Paul 
Warner  was  not  displeased.  But  he  changed  the  sub- 
ject; and,  in  truth,  war  was  an  inopportune  topic,  time 
and  place  considered. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  to  go  to  supper  now. 
That  is  a  call,  perhaps,  that  does  not  speak  so  loudly 
to  the  young  as  it  does  to  us  who  are  of  middle  age  or 
more,  but  you  must  heed  it." 

ft  was  my  privilege  to  take  Elinor,  and  Varian 
went  with  our  host  in  search  of  the  lady  with  whom  he 
was  to  have  the  happiness,  f  saw  Elinor's  eyes  watch- 
ing him  until  he  disappeared  in  the  ballroom,  and  when 
he  was  gone  she  seemed  grave  and  abstracted.  I  feared 
that  she  felt  the  charm  of  this  man's  manner  and  speech 
and  of  the  indefinable  quality  that  we  call,  for  the  lack 
of  a  better  name,  personal  magnetism.  That  he  had  it 
I  could  not  deny,  and  men  as  well  as  women  were  glad 
to  be  seen  receiving  his  notice. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  who  and  what  he  is,  Henry?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Why  does  he  arouse  every  one's  curiosity? "  I 
said,  feeling  a  pang  of  jealousy  and  making  my  reply  a 
question.  "  Even  you  are  now  asking  about  him,  Elinor, 
and  ordinarily  there  is  so  little  in  your  nature  that  is 
inquisitive." 

"  I  do  not  know  why,"  she  replied  simply. 

"  No  one  here  has  learned  much  concerning  him,"  I 
said,  somewhat  ashamed  of  the  feeling  that  had  shown 
in  my  tone.  "  Philip  Augustus  Yarian  has  been  in 
Washington  the  last  six  months.  He  came  from 
Europe,  so  it  is  said,  and  there  have  been  wagers  as  to 
whether  he  is  English  or  American,  while  others  equally 
wise  hold  that  he  is  neither." 

"  He  speaks  English  without  an  accent." 

"  Likewise  French  and  German;  so  we  can  infer 


6  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

nothing  from  that.  In  fact,  Varian's  interests  seem  to 
be  French.  It  is  said,  whether  truly  I  do  not  know, 
that  he  has  some  sort  of  a  commission  here  from  the 
French  Emperor.  Napoleon  is  building  up  an  em- 
pire in  Mexico  with  the  Austrian  Maximilian  as  his 
little  wooden  man  to  wear  the  crown,  and  he  wants 
to  win  more  prestige  by  breaking  up  the  American 
republic,  appearing  then  as  the  patron  and  protector 
of  the  South,  for  which  France  will  take  benefits.  It 
is  said  that  Varian — and  again  I  warn  you  I  know  not 
whether  it  is  true — is  here  to  speak  for  him  with  the 
Southern  leaders.  Certain  it  is,  he  is  intimate  with 
some  of  the  ablest  secessionists.  Elinor,  I  think  that 
Varian  is  a  dangerous  man." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  her  clear  eyes  upon 
me.  "  The  South  is  going  to  secede  whether  Mr.  Varian 
is  here  or  not,  and  if  he  is  hostile  to  the  Union  there 
are  ten  thousand  more  in  Washington  who  are  equally 
so." 

I  was  not  thinking  of  politics  or  war,  and  I  did  not 
answer  her.  We  were  at  the  door  of  the  supper  room, 
from  which  came  the  sound  of  many  voices,  and  I  had  a 
good  excuse. 

No  one  could  complain  justly  of  Paul  Warner's 
table,  and  this  night  he  reached  the  extreme  degree  of 
luxuriance  and  prodigality.  Yet  he  was  diplomatic,  as 
became  his  trade,  never  extreme  in  the  expression  of 
opinion,  and  the  partisans  of  North  and  South  alike  met 
around  his  silver  and  glass  and  china,  setting  the  seal 
of  approval  upon  his  hospitality.  Varian  was  not  far 
from  us,  but  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  where  I 
could  see  him  well,  and  I  was  compelled  to  admit  that 
his  features  were  strong  and  handsome.  The  sunburn 
of  his  face,  and  the  calm,  easy  air  with  which  he  ac- 
cepted all  things  as  a  matter  of  course,  became  him.  He 
was  in  a  uniform  of  white  and  silver,  which  I  took  to  be 
a  variation  of  a  French  colonel's,  modified  by  his  own 


THE  PLAY  OF  WORDS  7 

taste,  and  he  was  the  most  splendid  figure  in  the  room. 
He  was  talking  just  then  to  Elinor's  aunt,  Mrs.  May- 
nard,  a  lady  of  thin  features,  acid  smile,  and  gray  com- 
plexion, who  had  always  done  me  the  honour  of  with- 
holding from  me  her  approval.  Varian's  manner  toward 
her  was  as  deferential  as  if  Elinor  sat  in  her  place,  and 
the  slight  softness  of  her  features  showed  that  she  was 
pleased. 

"  Your  health  to-night,  Miss  Maynard,"  said  a 
voice.  "  We  are  all  your  subjects.  What  a  pity  we 
could  not  cast  off  our  allegiance  in  order  that  we  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  coming  back,  renewing  it,  and 
then  throwing  ourselves  at  your  feet,  thus  obtaining  the 
blessings  allotted  to  the  one  sinner  out  of  a  hundred. 
To  look  at  this  scene  one  would  not  think,  Miss  May- 
nard, that  the  breath  of  war  is  already  upon  our  cheeks. 
War  is  a  dreadful  thing,  but  the  nations  have  never 
been  able  to  get  along  without  it;  it  is  one  of  the 
five  necessary  plagues — war,  work,  disease,  debt,  and 
Yankees." 

The  liquid  trickle  of  his  talk  ceased  for  a  moment  as 
he  took  breath.  It  was  Major  Titus  Tyler,  of  Mississippi, 
who  spoke,  he  of  the  endless  speech  and  supreme  good 
nature,  a  man  who  saw  the  world  through  optimistic 
eyes.  His  title  was  not  to  be  taken  in  vain.  It  had 
been  earned  honestly  on  Mexican  battlefields,  bravery 
being  one  of  his  natural  and  irresponsible  quali- 
ties. Habit  had  not  dimmed  for  me  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  idle  flow  of  the  major's  speech  and  the  dis- 
tinction of  his  appearance. 

"  You  hold  that  war  is  a  necessary  evil,  Major 
Tyler,"  said  Varian,  who  was  within  easy  hearing.  "  I 
agree  with  you  in  part  at  least.  It  is  not  exactly  a 
necessary  evil,  but  an  evil  that  we  must  expect." 

I  did  not  hear  the  reply,  a  faint  sound  from  the 
street  coming  just  then  to  my  ears  and  claiming  my  at- 
tention with  its  significance.     It  was  the  marching  of 


8  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

troops  to  the  slow  distant  beat  of  a  drum — no  new 
sound  in  Washington  in  the  closing  months  of  the  win- 
ter of  1860-'61.  But  the  words  of  Major  Tyler,  "  The 
breath  of  war  is  already  upon  our  cheeks,"  so  idly 
spoken,  borrowed  new  force  from  the  prophetic  drum- 
beat. Yet  there  was  no  sign  of  war  within.  The  silver 
and  the  glass  shone  in  the  rays  of  many  lights,  and  the 
red  wine  sparkled  in  the  goblets.  Mr.  Warner  beamed 
from  his  black-ringed  eyes  and  expanded  in  his  wide 
waistcoat.  Men  and  women  were  joyous,  taking  the 
evening  for  what  it  was.  I  believed  that  we  alone  had 
been  talking  or  even  thinking  of  coming  dangers. 

"  It's  the  drum  that  you  hear,  Mr.  Kingsf ord,"  said 
Varian,  who  saw  me  listening.  "  It  is  not  a  bad  sound. 
All  the  nations  have  marched  to  its  tune." 

"  If  there  is  anything  I  hate  particularly,  it's  trying 
to  prove  things  right  through  precedents,"  said  Pem- 
broke. "  You  can  always  find  a  precedent,  because,  as 
the  wise  man  said,  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun." 

Varian  smiled  tolerantly,  and  the  talk  shifted  to 
lighter  topics.  The  drumbeat  was  forgotten,  and  there 
was  no  bar  to  the  increasing  gaiety  of  the  guests.  I 
saw  through  the  open  doors  of  the  room  into  the  long 
halls,  where  the  lights  stretched  in  parallel  rows  like 
two  belts  of  flame,  narrowing  in  the  distance.  Mr. 
Warner  was  at  his  happiest.  Much  incense  floated  to 
him  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  the  flavour  of  it  was 
pleasant.  The  house  was  one  of  the  finest  in  Wash- 
ington, and  it  was  his.  The  beauty  and  distinction  of 
his  niece  were  reflections  of  his  own  glory.  The  colour 
and  the  lights  appealed  to  his  physical  senses,  and  he 
was  responsible  for  them  too. 

We  returned  to  the  ballroom.  I  could  not  expect  to 
claim  much  of  Elinor's  time  on  such  an  evening,  and 
leaving  her,  I  paid  my  respects  to  her  aunt,  Mrs.  May- 
nard.  We  had  never  been  very  good  friends.  Per- 
haps the  hostility  grew  out  of  the  ill  feeling  between 


THE  PLAY  OF  WORDS  9 

Mrs.  Maynard  and  my  grandmother,  which,  was  of  an 
origin  antedating  my  birth,  and  therefore  so  far  as 
concerned  me  was  an  inheritance.  They  were  near 
neighbours  in  Kentucky,  and  my  grandmother,  who  was 
a  devout  woman — believing  sincerely  that  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven  was  bounded  on  the  north  by  the  Ohio  River, 
and  on  the  east,  south,  and  west  by  the  Presbyterian 
Church — had  a  righteous  distrust  of  Mrs.  Maynard's 
Northern  origin  and  Episcopal  affiliations.  Mrs.  May- 
nard, a  woman  capable  of  speaking  for  herself,  retali- 
ated, and,  planted  in  such  fertile  ground  and  neurished 
by  proximity,  the  weed  of  discord  grew. 

These  memories  must  have  been  present  with  Mrs. 
Maynard  on  this  night,  as  she  received  with  small  fa- 
vour my  efforts  to  please,  the  gray  parchment  of  her 
face  wrinkling  dryly  at  my  best-turned  sentences,  and 
her  eyes  following  Elinor  and  Varian,  who  were  then 
dancing  together.  So  I  excused  myself  presently,  and 
walked  with  Pembroke  into  the  garden,  where  we  might 
find  fresh  air.  We  stood  there  in  the  darkness,  the 
moon  having  faded,  and  looked  back  at  the  house,  alive 
with  many  lights.  But  we  remained  silent,  each  full 
of  his  own  thoughts,  and  I  believed  that  his,  like  mine, 
were  of  Elinor  and  Varian. 

When  we  returned  to  the  house  I  decided  that  it 
was  time  for  me  to  go.  I  sought  Elinor,  that  I  might 
pay  my  parting  respects,  and  found  her  aunt,  Varian, 
and  Major  Titus  Tyler  near  her.  There  was  a  slight 
change  in  her  manner  toward  me — not  a  lack  of  warmth, 
but  a  difference  in  its  quality;  I  seemed  younger  to  her. 

"  Mr.  Kingsford  and  Elinor  were  children  together, 
Mr.  Varian,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard,  drawing  her  thin  lips 
into  an  acid  smile. 

"  An  ideal  relationship,"  said  Varian.  "  The  only 
Platonic  friendship  that  can  endure.  One  might  wish 
for  the  sake  of  example  that  nothing  would  interfere 
with  the  continuity  of  this." 


10  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  Nothing  is  likely  to  do  so.  These  old  friendships 
begun  in  childhood  are  very  beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  May- 
nard. 

I  did  not  reply  to  them,  though  my  blood  was  hot, 
and  said  good  night  in  a  firm  voice.  Then  I  passed 
down  the  street  into  another  atmosphere,  and  the  lights 
of  the  srreat  house  soon  faded. 


CHAPTEE  II 

A    MODEST   AERIVAL 

It  was  far  toward  morning  and  a  light  wind  was 
dying.  The  night  was  quiet,  and  I  saw  no  one  near  me. 
Alone  in  the  darkness  the  news  that  I  had  heard  of  Lin- 
coln's flight  became  a  greater  weight  upon  my  spirits, 
and  I  wondered  at  the  laxity  of  the  North  in  remaining 
unready  for  the  issue. 

Although  official  winter  was  scarcely  gone  the  night 
was  mild  and  full  of  spring  promise.  A  tremulous  haze 
of  warmth,  a  gift  from  the  far  south,  hung  over  the 
city. 

I  could  find  no  joy  in  the  touch  of  spring:  the 
distant  glimpses  of  the  river,  running  like  melted 
silver  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  softened  outlines  of 
stone  buildings  near  by,  with  the  rim  of  hills  beyond, 
floating  up,  like  a  mist.  The  approaching  splendour 
of  Nature  was  obscured  by  a  sense  of  the  disaster  and 
wreck  that  would  come  with  it,  and  the  parting  of  old 
ties,  never  to  be  replaced  by  the  new.  My  vision  was 
coloured  by  my  thoughts,  and  the  haze  in  the  air  took  a 
tinge  of  ominous  red,  tinting  river  and  hills,  and  hang- 
ing like  a  threat  over  the  city  and  its  people.  I  won- 
dered whose  capital  it  would  be  a  year  from  then. 

I  trust  that  I  am  not  excitable,  nor  possessed  of  an 
excessive  sensibility,  but  various  causes  made  me  keen- 
ly alive  to  impressions  that  night,  especially  to  those 
of  a  gloomy  character.  There  are  things  more  serious 
2  11 


12  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

to  a  young  man  than  the  imminence  of  a  great  war — 
in  truth,  the  odour  of  coming  battles  is  sometimes  at- 
tractive— but  Elinor's  changed  manner  toward  me, 
slight  though  it  was,  and  the  presence  and  power  of 
Varian  coloured  all  else. 

Having  the  constitutional  objection  of  the  early  twen- 
ties to  melancholy,  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  Capitol, 
and  walked  more  rapidly  down  Pennsylvania  Avenue, 
approaching  the  region  of  light  and  movement.  The 
sounds  of  life  increased,  and  I  passed  many  people. 
The  city,  usually  so  sober  and  in  bed  at  ten,  was  now 
awake  late  every  night,  like  a  debauchee,  and  lights 
burned  in  some  rooms  until  day.  There  was  talk  of 
spies  and  traitors,  of  tyranny  and  death — heated,  per- 
haps; it  was  said  that  plottings  and  treason  were  going 
on,  and  of  the  former  there  was  no  doubt.  Yet  many 
of  us,  of  different  faith,  could  and  would  remain 
friends,  and  were  able  to  talk  calmly  of  the  coming 
trial. 

I  heard  the  click  of  metal,  and  paused  to  look  at  a 
company  of  soldiers  gathered  around  a  fire  that  smoul- 
dered on  a  grass  plot,  sending  up  alternate  tongues  of 
flame  and  smoke.  Most  of  the  men  were  half  asleep, 
sitting  there  in  apathetic  silence,  the  dim  light  of  the 
unsteady  flames  falling  now  and  then  across  their  lean 
faces  and  revealing  their  strong  features.  They  were 
of  the  North,  and  I  was  impressed  more  deeply  than 
ever  before  by  the  lack  of  difference  between  them  and 
the  Southerners:  merely  a  little  more  sun  in  the  cheeks 
of  the  Southern  men,  merely  a  little  more  briskness  in 
the  speech  of  the  Northern,  and  that  was  all. 

The  fire  blazed  up  a  little  and  flickered  over  the 
steel  of  bayonet  and  rifle  barrel.  The  men  remained 
silent  and  motionless  in  dusky  rows  in  front  of  the  coals, 
but  the  sentinels  walked  their  beats  with  regular  step. 
I  had  seen  companies  of  militia,  more  or  less  for  play 
and  display,  but  these  men  came  for  another  purpose. 


A  MODEST  ARRIVAL  13 

Their  own  serious  faces,  the  lack  of  sport  and  jest,  and 
the  sombre  silence  told  that  the  soldiers  were  there  to 
carry  on  their  real  trade — fighting;  not  to  protect  the 
city  from  invasion,  but  Americans  in  arms  against 
Americans — for  the  first  time. 

They  began  to  change  the  guard,  and  some  one  said: 
"  All's  well."  This  struck  me  as  the  grimmest  joke  of 
my  time.  The  two  halves  of  a  nation  that  had  intended 
to  enlighten  mankind  and  make  it  better  were  going  to 
cut  each  other's  throats,  and  all  the  world  would  sit 
by  and  laugh  at  the  sight.  And  we  would  not  be 
able  to  deny  that  the  spectators  were  entitled  to  their 
laugh. 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  finding  daybreak  nearly 
due  concluded  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  seek  my 
bed.  So  I  continued  my  walk,  choosing  to  meditate, 
which  we  can  do  best  when  in  motion. 

A  few  whiffs  of  rain  were  blown  into  my  face  by  the 
irregular  puffs  of  wind,  and  the  air  became  raw  and 
cold  with  the  edge  of  winter.  But  I  was  wrapped  in 
a  heavy  coat,  and,  with  hands  deep  in  the  pockets  and 
the  collar  high  around  my  throat,  I  thought  nothing 
of  bodily  suffering;  instead  I  rather  liked  the  rain  upon 
me,  as  it  imparted  a  pleasant  coolness  to  the  blood. 

The  hum  of  the  plotting  city  died;  the  men  with 
the  thin,  eager  faces  were  gone  at  last  from  the  streets, 
given  up  now  to  the  lone  watchman  and  a  few  such 
as  I  who  were  not  in  search  of  sleep.  But,  occupied 
with  plans,  important  to  myself  at  least,  I  did  not  feel 
lonely,  walking  to  and  fro  until  the  misty  light  in 
the  east  betokened  the  sunrise. 

I  watched  idly  as  the  sun  showed  the  edge  of  his 
great  red  disk  above  the  hills  and  looked  upon  the  city, , 
but  when  he  swung  clear  of  the  earth  and  began  to 
creep  up  the  eastern  skies  I  walked  back  toward  the 
avenue. 

The  light  was  yet  misty  in  the  streets  between  the 


14  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

houses,  and  when  I  heard  a  faint  hut  steady  heat  and 
looked  for  its  cause  I  saw  only  a  formless  bulk  approach- 
ing. I  stopped,  my  curiosity  aroused,  not  so  much  by 
the  figure  as  by  this  jar  upon  the  hours  of  silence  and 
loneliness  which  came  upon  me  like  an  awakening. 
Out  of  the  formless  bulk  four  points  of  light  shone, 
and  as  the  beat  grew  louder  the  eyes  of  two  horses 
appeared,  and  a  carriage  slowly  rose  behind  them  in 
the  dusk.  The  horses  blew  the  rime  of  frost  from 
their  noses  and  came  on  with  regular  tread.  The 
driver  sat  upon  his  seat,  holding  the  lines  with  me- 
chanical hand,  his  face  red  with  cold,  and  the  silver 
incrusting  his  mustache.  He  glanced  once  my  way, 
but  wasted  no  further  time  upon  me,  and  my  lack  of 
importance  did  not  hurt  my  feelings. 

I  looked  at  the  carriage — a  heavy,  ordinary,  closed 
affair,  spattered  with  mud — and  my  eyes,  passing, 
would  have  left  it,  forgotten  forever,  but  they  were 
caught  by  a  face  at  the  glass  door — the  worn,  anxious, 
and  apprehensive  face  of  a  man — and  I  looked  again. 
I  wondered  what  could  take  abroad  so  distinguished  a 
member  of  Congress  as  this  in  a  closed  carriage  at  such 
an  early  hour  in  the  morning. 

I  had  recognised  him  at  once,  and  I  knew,  moreover, 
that  he  was  one  of  the  boldest,  strongest,  and  most  re- 
sourceful of  the  Eepublican  leaders.  No  ordinary 
errand  could  draw  him  just  when  the  daylight  was 
coming,  and,  burning  with  curiosity — a  curiosity  that 
I  felt  to  be  pardonable  in  the  troubled  times — I 
turned  back  and  followed  the  carriage,  which  had  now 
passed  me. 

It  went  on  at  a  steady  walk,  apparently  by  the 
modesty  of  its  gait  and  appearance  desiring  to  avoid  the 
attention  of  the  awakening  capital;  its  course  did  not 
lead  it  toward  the  residence  of  the  man  who  occupied 
it  or  of  any  other  conspicuous  personage,  and  the  cir- 
cumstance confirmed  me  in  the  belief  that  I  was  wit- 


A  MODEST  ARKIVAL  15 

nessing  a  phase  in  some  one  of  the  schemes  and  plots 
of  which  the  city  was  now  so  full.  Determined  more 
than  ever  to  see  its  development,  if  consistent  with 
honour  and  not  too  difficult,  I  followed  at  even  pace, 
keeping  twenty  yards  or  so  between  myself  and  the 
chase,  the  pursuit  not  wholly  devoid  of  humour.  The 
light  of  the  rising  sun  fell  sometimes  in  fiery  shafts 
across  the  red  face  of  the  stolid  driver,  but  was  not 
able  to  add  much  to  the  vividness  of  its  tints. 

The  carriage  proceeded  at  its  sober  gait,  as  if  it  had 
all  the  world  and  eternity  before  it,  no  noise  disturbing 
the  dawning  morning  but  the  roll  of  its  wheels  and  the 
beat  of  the  horses'  feet.  Presently  it  entered  the 
railroad  station  for  the  Northern  trains  and  stopped 
there,  the  driver  remaining  stolidly  in  his  seat.  The 
statesman  opened  the  door  and  looked  up  the  railroad 
track,  his  eyes  following  the  shining  rails  with  intense 
anxiety;  evidently  the  gaze  ended  at  nothing  but  the 
horizon,  for  a  look  of  disappointment  came  into  the 
eager  eyes,  and  then  he  closed  the  door  and  shut  him- 
self in,  as  if  wishing  to  escape  observation  even  in  the 
moments  of  waiting.  There  were  no  others  about  the 
station  save  a  few  employees  and  two  or  three  people 
who  seemed  to  expect  friends  on  an  early  train. 

My  eyes  had  followed  the  statesman's  up  the  rail- 
road track  into  the  north,  and  they  too  had  seen  only 
the  horizon  and  the  rising  splendour  of  the  morning. 

But  I  believed  now  that  I  knew  the  cause  of  the 
evasive,  almost  secret,  journey  of  this  carriage,  and 
again  I  thanked  fortune  because  I  was  there  to  see. 
My  watch  marked  half  past  six,  and  a  few  moments 
later  I  saw  a  faint  brown  spot  appear  against  the 
silvery  edge  of  the  horizon;  it  expanded,  then  deep- 
ened in  colour,  throwing  off  shreds  and  patches  of  white, 
and  the  rails  began  to  hum  with  the  coming  train. 

The  statesman  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  and  en- 
tered the  station.    I  followed  him,  and,  affecting  an  air 


16  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

of  unconcern  as  if  I  expected  a  friend,  met  the  train  too. 
A  very  tall  man  came  out  of  a  car  and,  descending  the 
step,  looked  around  as  if  he  knew  some  one  would  be 
there  to  meet  him.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  fully 
six  and  a  half  feet  in  height,  somewhat  bent  in  the 
shoulders,  and  with  one  of  those  long,  meagre,  bony, 
brown,  and  seamed  faces  so  characteristic  of  the  West, 
where  winters  and  summers  are  extreme  and  life  has 
been  hard.  I  looked  once  into  the  stranger's  eyes,  and 
thought  them  the  saddest  that  I  had  ever  seen,  so 
full  were  they  of  melancholy,  and  yet  with  a  certain 
pleading.  As  the  member  of  Congress  ran  forward  to 
meet  him  he  climbed  awkwardly  down  the  step.  His 
gait  was  so  shambling,  his  black  clothes  hung  so  un- 
gracefully about  him,  his  whole  appearance  was  so 
different  from  the  men  of  easy  manners  and  distin- 
guished bearing  whom  the  South  chose  for  high  place, 
that  my  first  emotion  was  one  of  keen  disappointment. 
He  looked  the  rail  splitter  that  he  had  been;  an  awk- 
ward Western  borderer,  with  nothing  in  his  appearance 
to  inspire  the  respect — fear,  even — that  was  needed  at 
so  critical  a  time,  when  the  strongest  of  the  nation  were 
at  each  other's  throats.  I  thought  of  a  missionary  with 
a  prayer  book*  trying  to  control  a  cageful  of  tigers,  when 
the  man  wanted  was  a  Hercules  with  a  red-hot  bar  of 
iron.  The  stranger's  melancholy  eyes  met  my  own  again, 
and  at  this  second  meeting  I  was  powerfully  attracted; 
I  thought  that  I  saw  there  so  much  pity,  so  much 
human  affection;  then  his  gaze  wandered  on  to  the 
member  of  Congress,  whose  eyes  were  alight  with  glad- 
ness, showing  an  obvious  feeling  of  great  relief. 

The  statesman  helped  the  tall  stranger  into  the 
carriage,  then  entering  too,  closed  the  door  hastily,  but 
spoke  first  to  the  stolid  driver,  who  drove  away  much 
faster  than  he  had  come. 

I  did  not  follow,  but  I  watched  the  carriage  as  it 
passed  out  of  sight.    I  understood  the  full  importance 


A  MODEST  ARRIVAL  17 

of  the  event  that  I  had  just  witnessed.  Lincoln,  the 
President  elect,  was  in  Washington,  when  all  hut  the 
few  who  helped  to  bring  him  believed  that  he  had 
turned  back  and  was  at  Philadelphia,  afraid  to  enter 
the  capital  and  take  the  seat  to  which  he  had  been 
chosen,  dreading  the  extreme  anger  of  the  South.  The 
first  great  step  was  taken,  and  taken  safely.  I  knew 
well  that  the  news  of  his  coming,  and  in  such  a  man- 
ner, would  set  the  South  on  fire,  being  looked  upon 
there  as  a  hostile  movement,  while  the  North  would 
celebrate  it  as  a  victory. 


CHAPTEK  III 

A   SOLDIER  OF  THE   REPUBLIC 

I  visited  none  of  my  friends  that  day,  wishing  to 
be  alone — that  is,  alone  in  a  crowd,  where  I  could  ob- 
serve and  myself  pass  unnoticed.  The  drama  now  un- 
folding in  Washington  was  of  the  most  absorbing  na- 
ture, and  all  my  personal  interests  were  involved  in  it. 
Yet  my  own  course  was  clear,  and  I  could  watch  others. 

I  passed  from  crowd  to  crowd,  noting  the  increasing 
strain  of  the  situation,  caused  by  the  arrival  of  Lincoln, 
the  news  of  which  soon  spread  throughout  the  city, 
and  the  growing  volume  of  belligerent  talk,  much  of 
it  real.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  I  entered  a 
hotel  where  the  crowd  in  the  public  room  was  the 
thickest  that  I  had  met  yet;  a  crowd,  too,  which  seemed 
to  be  wholly  Southern.  I  saw  no  one  whom  I  knew, 
and  my  attention  wandering  shortly,  I  began  to  think 
of  Varian  and  Elinor  and  Mrs.  Maynard.  The  thought 
of  these  three  in  connection  was  not  pleasant,  but  I 
could  not  dismiss  it. 

When  I  looked  up  again  I  saw  that  another  man  in 
all  that  turbulent  crowd  was  silent.  The  stranger's 
glance  wandered  my  way  presently,  and  I  was  drawn 
by  his  expression  of  humorous  sympathy.  There  seemed 
to  be  between  us  the  indefinable  but  mutual  attraction 
of  two  who  are  of  one  mind  and  differ  from  those  around 
them,  the  hostile  crowd  acting  as  a  force  to  press  them 
together. 

18 


A  SOLDIER  OP  THE  REPUBLIC  19 

I  examined  this  man  who  held  my  gaze.  He  was 
about  fifty,  short,  dark,  thick,  his  shoulders  and  chest 
immense,  his  face  almost  as  brown  as  an  Indian's,  and 
his  hands  large  and  rough.  His  dress  was  plain  and 
careless;  evidently  he  was  not  of  high  station  in  life, 
but  the  open  expression  of  his  broad  face,  his  steady 
gaze  which  said,  though  not  offensively,  that  he  con- 
sidered himself  as  good  as  anybody,  made  him  singu- 
larly attractive  to  those  who  liked  strength  and  can- 
dour. His  eyes  twinkled  as  if  he  were  enjoying  a  fine 
comedy  at  a  theatre,  and  presently  he  came  over  and 
sat  down  beside  me.  I  observed  at  once  the  erectness 
of  his  figure,  the  manner  in  which  he  threw  back  his 
shoulders,  and  that  his  was  a  soldier's  walk. 

"  Heap  big  talk,  as  the  Indians  would  say,"  began 
the  stranger,  filling  his  pipe  slowly  and  lighting  it. 

His  manner  invited  confidence. 

"  They  are  telling  each  other  that  the  war  will  last 
but  two  or  three  months,"  I  said,  wishing  to  draw  him. 
"  One  or  two  battles  they  believe  will  suffice  to  divide 
the  Union." 

The  stranger  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
watched  a  whiff  of  smoke  rise  to  the  ceiling.  His  eyes 
still  twinkled,  and  the  lines  of  his  face  curved  into  a 
smile,  making  deep  creases. 

"  I  heard  them,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  an  uncle  who 
was  a  sailor.  He  used  to  say  that  lots  of  stuff  came 
alongside,  but  he  hoisted  mighty  little  of  it  on  board, 
and  stowed  away  still  less  in  the  hold.  That's  my 
opinion  of  talk  like  this." 

He  waved  his  hand  at  the  crowd,  which  was  paying 
no  attention  either  to  him  or  me. 

"  What  do  they  know  of  war?  "  he  continued.  "  Not 
one  of  them  ever  saw  a  battle." 

"  You  are  a  soldier,"  I  said,  my  first  impression  con- 
firmed. 

"  Perhaps  these  gabblers  would  not  call  me  one, 


20  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

but  I've  drawn  Uncle  Sam's  pay  for  thirty  years,  and 
I've  tried  to  earn  my  little  per  diem.  I  followed  old 
Fuss  and  Feathers  to  the  Halls  of  the  Montezumas — and 
I  don't  want  any  such  halls  to  live  in;  I  can  tell  you 
the  tribe  of  every  Indian  on  the  plains  by  the  style  of 
his  war  paint;  and  I  know  by  one  look  into  a  quarter- 
master's eye  whether  he  steals  rations.  Isn't  that 
enough? " 

He  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  again,  and  with 
heartfelt  satisfaction  watched  the  smoke  curl  upward. 
Evidently  he  had  the  just  proportion  of  egotism  that 
makes  a  man  happy.  He  showed,  too,  the  slight  and  re- 
pressed tinge  of  garrulity  necessary  to  a  good  comrade. 

"  You  are  of  the  regular  army,  then?  "  I  said. 

"  Of  course;  I  never  heard  of  any  other  army — real 
army." 

Obviously  his  professional  pride  was  aroused.  My 
liking  increased.  The  stranger's  appearance  was  attrac- 
tive and  his  manner  yet  more  so.  He  was  the  incarna- 
tion of  good  humour. 

"  Thirty  years  in  the  army!  "  I  repeated. 

"  Yes,  and  it's  more  years  than  you  are  old,  with, 
some  to  spare.  Thirty  years  ago  I  enlisted  with  Uncle 
Sam  as  a  private — a  common,  raw  private,  mind  you — 
a  green,  fool  private — a  private  that  was  nothing  but 
dirt  under  the  captain's  heel,  and  six  months  ago  I 
resigned  as  a " 

"As  a  what?" 

"  As  a  private,  still  a  common  private." 

He  laughed  a  quiet  but  deep  and  unctuous  laugh. 

"  Still  a  private,"  he  resumed,  "  and  willing  to  be 
one,  but  not  a  raw  private,  nor  a  green  private,  nor  dirt 
under  the  officer's  heel.  A  good  many  lieutenants  fresh 
from  West  Point,  with  their  dress-parade  uniforms  on, 
and  with  as  much  knowledge  of  real  war  as  a  baby  has 
of  a  saw  mill,  have  been  willing  to  ask  the  opinion  of 
Thomas  Shaftoe,  private  soldier,  U.  S.  A." 


A  SOLDIER  OF  THE  REPUBLIC  21 

"Why  did  you  quit  the  army?" 

"  Things  were  dull  then.  I  didn't  know  that  this 
war  was  breeding  so  fast;  but  now  it's  close  at  hand,  and 
I'll  enlist  again.  I'm  going  to  join  the  volunteer  boys 
in  the  West;  they're  fine  stuff — the  best  in  the  world, 
but  raw,  and  maybe  an  old  soldier  like  myself  can  do 
a  lot  of  good  among  them." 

He  smoked  his  pipe  vigorously,  looking  keenly  at 
me  from  under  his  heavy  eyebrows. 

He  said  presently: 

"  You're  carrying  the  whole  world  on  your  shoul- 
ders! " 

I  started  and  then  smiled.  His  manner  was  so  genial 
that  one  could  not  take  offence. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  know  it;  I  can  see  it,  and  the  load's  getting 
heavy,  young  man;  throw  it  off!  you  look  tired.  Don't 
fret;  it  doesn't  pay;  there  are  just  twelve  hundred  mil- 
lion people  in  the  world,  so  I've  heard,  and  no  man  is 
responsible  for  every  one  of  them.  Now,  I  take  it  that 
you're  trying  to  settle  this  whole  war  business  all  by 
your  young  and  inexperienced  self,  and,  just  naturally, 
you  are  getting  mixed  up  and  troubled  with  the  size  of 
the  job.  Let  it  go  and  do  your  part,  which  is  the  one 
twelve-hundred-millionth  of  the  whole.  It  will  come 
out  all  right;  if  it  don't,  let  it  go  wrong — you'll  not  be 
to  blame." 

"  You  are  sure  that  there  will  be  a  war?  "  I  asked, 
pleased  at  his  sympathy,  but  not  telling  him  that  the 
coming  struggle  was  not  the  whole  cause  of  my  concern. 

"  As  sure  as  I  am  that  the  sun  will  rise  in  the  morn- 
ing. You  don't  think  that  the  political  orators,  the 
stump  speakers,  have  been  at  work  all  these  years  for 
nothing,  do  you?  You've  heard,  no  doubt,  that  there 
are  special  hells  reserved  for  special  people,  but  if  I 
had  my  way  the  special  hell  of  the  special  hells  would 
be  put  aside  for  the  stump  speakers.    It's  a  funny  thing 


22  IN  CIRCLING   CAMPS 

to  me  that  the  people  of  this  country,  who  do  most 
things  so  well,  and  are  so  keen,  should  allow  themselves 
to  be  led  off  by  any  man  with  the  gift  of  gab  that  comes 
along.  He  may  be  a  fool  or  a  scamp  in  everything  but 
stump  speaking,  a  drunkard,  a  gambler,  a  fellow  who 
does  not  pay  his  debts,  and  whose  word  you  would  not 
trust  five  minutes;  but  let  him  get  up  on  a  platform 
and  tell  a  string  of  jokes,  and  rave  about  our  wrongs, 
and  the  whole  crowd  will  shout  that  he's  the  very  fel- 
low to  manage  the  finances  and  the  army  and  the  navy 
and  the  post  office,  and  everything  else  that  the  Gov- 
ernment's got.  Now,  the  South  knows  that  slavery  is 
wrong,  even  when  she  says  it's  not;  but  she's  been 
abused  so  much  about  it,  and  charged  with  so  many 
things  that  she  hasn't  done  by  the  Northern  people — 
some  of  whom  are  still  living  on  the  inherited  profits  of 
the  slave  trade,  and  whose  consciences  have  spoken  late 
— that  she's  put  her  back  up,  and  she  says:  *  All  right; 
I've  got  slavery,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it;  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it? '  She  is  so  mad  she  can't  see 
straight,  and  she  will  make  a  fool  of  herself  and 
have  a  war;  but  if  you  could  find  a  wide  plain,  lead 
all  the  thirty  million  people  of  the  United  States  into 
it,  introduce  'em  to  each  other,  and  let  'em  see  what 
they  really  are,  the  whole  trouble — slavery,  State  rights, 
and  everything  else — would  be  finished  in  ten  minutes. 
Instead,  there  will  be  a  bloody  war,  and  the  demagogues 
of  both  sides  who  have  caused  it  will  be  the  first  to 
take  to  the  woods  when  the  shooting  begins." 

He  spoke  with  frankness,  and  it  was  manifest  from 
his  tone  that  he  had  no  feeling  against  either  section. 
The  more  I  looked  at  him  the  more  I  liked  him,  and  I 
thought  that  he  liked  me  as  well.  This  seemed  to  be 
one  of  those  happy  chances  of  which  every  man  has  a 
fair  percentage,  and  a  serious  thought  developed  itself 
rapidly  in  my  mind.  Meanwhile  I  gazed  at  him  with 
intentness,  though  in  a  manner  that  was  unconscious. 


A  SOLDIER  OF  THE  REPUBLIC  23 

"  Well,  Mr.  Judge,  what  do  you  think  of  me  ?  "  he 
asked  at  length,  the  humorous  twinkle  reappearing  in 
his  eyes,  and  the  creases  forming  again  around  his 
mouth. 

I  would  have  apologized  for  my  rude  gaze,  but  I 
saw  that  he  was  not  offended,  and  I  said: 

"I  think  that  you  look  like  a  good  soldier  and  a 
man  who  would  prove  a  first-class  comrade.  I  am  to 
he  a  soldier,  too,  or  at  least  try.  I  suggest  that  you 
undertake  my  education  in  the  ranks." 

"  It's  a  heavy  responsibility  that  you  are  putting  on 
me,"  he  replied,  the  twinkle  deepening.  "  Are  you  pre- 
pared to  take  advice  and  never  to  sulk?" 

"  I'll  try." 

"  Then,  if  you  keep  your  word,  you  will  make  a  good 
beginning,"  he  said,  "  and  we  stand  agreed." 

The  bargain  was  signed,  attested,  and  sealed  with 
a  handshake,  and  then  we  adjourned  to  hear  a  street 
preacher,  who  had  been  on  the  sidewalk  for  the  last  five 
minutes  haranguing  whomsoever  would  listen. 

In  our  country,  where  every  man  may  speak. his 
mind,  or  his  lack  of  it,  strange  people  sometimes  lift 
up  their  voices  and  add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  life, 
if  not  to  its  wisdom.  The  preacher  who  addressed  the 
crowd  was  tall,  thin,  angular,  and  the  fire  of  fanaticism 
burned  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  bring  a  message  of  peace  on  earth  and  good  will 
to  men,"  he  said. 

The  words  had  an  unreal  echo  in  the  war-laden  at- 
mosphere of  that  city.     Somebody  laughed. 

"You  prepare  for  war,  and  lo!  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  at  hand,"  continued  the  preacher,  turning  his 
burning  eyes  upon  the  one  who  laughed. 

The  crowd  was  silent,  respecting  his  earnestness, 
and  he  began  to  talk  with  a  natural  but  wild  and  dis- 
jointed eloquence.  He  quoted  the  command,  "  Thou 
shalt  do  no  murder."     He  spoke  of  the  wicked  cities 


24  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

destroyed  for  their  sins,  and  he  said  that  we  were 
marching  to  the  same  fate.  He  was  like  some  Hebrew 
prophet  upbraiding  the  children  of  Israel  when  they 
were  sunk  in  sin. 

The  crowd  was  awed  for  a  little  while  by  his  wild 
emphasis  and  his  striking  appearance  as  he  stood  there, 
his  eyes  lighting  up  his  meagre  face  like  two  coals  and 
his  long  white  hair  thrown  back.  But  the  impression 
soon  faded,  and  they  began  to  laugh  at  him  as  a  fanatic. 
Then  I  saw  how  idle  his  efforts  were.  The  passions  of 
the  multitude  had  been  raised,  and  they  could  not  be 
stilled  by  a  few  words.  One  might  as  well  preach  to 
soldiers  of  the  blessings  of  peace  when  their  fingers  were 
on  the  trigger  and  the  enemy  coming. 

The  crowd  passed  from  laughing  to  jeering,  and 
then  two  or  three  missiles  were  thrown,  but  in  a  moment 
a  tall  man  strode  among  them  and  pushed  the  offenders 
violently  to  one  side,  speaking  to  them  so  sternly  and 
with  such  authority  that  they  slipped  away  ashamed. 

It  was  Varian. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  told  you,  Mr.  Kingsf  ord,"  he  said 
to  me.  "  The  mob  is  fit  only  to  be  ruled  by  the  best, 
who  are  also  the  fewest.  Freedom  of  speech,  even  to 
the  lowest,  is  one  of  the  chief  boasts  of  this  country, 
and  you  have  just  beheld  the  common  people  them- 
selves trying  to  prevent  it.  Only  an  aristocracy  can 
secure  free  speech  and  other  rights  for  the  multitude. 
I  think  that  if  I  had  not  interfered  you  would  have 
done  so  speedily." 

He  held  out  his  hand  as  if  we  were  the  best  of 
friends,  and  I  had  no  choice  but  to  take  it.  Then  I 
introduced  my  new  acquaintance  Shaftoe,  and  he  was 
polite  to  him  also. 

"  You  are  a  type  of  the  American  regular  soldier, 
Mr.  Shaftoe,"  he  said,  "  and  I  think  that  you  will  soon 
have  a  chance  to  prove  what  you  can  do." 

Shaftoe  assented  silently,  and  we  walked  a 'little  way 


A  SOLDIER  OP  THE  REPUBLIC  25 

together.  Then  the  soldier  left  us,  he  and  I  agreeing  to 
meet  on  the  morrow. 

"  Bough,  but  honest  and  stanch,  I  should  say,"  com- 
mented Varian.  "  The  plebeian  type  in  its  best  form. 
Society,  I  repeat,  Mr.  Kingsford,  must  be  composed  of 
two  classes,  the  patrician  and  plebeian,  each  with  its 
virtues.  The  ancient  world  has  proved  it.  I  know 
that  you  do  not  agree  with  me,  but  at  last  you  will  find 
me  to  be  right." 

When  we  parted  he  gave  me  a  courteous  invitation 
to  visit  him  at  his  rooms. 

"  I  shall  have  some  friends  there,"  he  said,  "  who,  I 
think,  you  will  find  agreeable,  and  we  can  play  cards, 
discuss  politics  or  not,  as  you  choose,  and  practise  with 
the  foils.  I  learned  swordsmanship  in  Europe,  and  I 
think  I  can  promise  that  you  shall  not  be  bored." 

His  manner  as  he  gave  me  the  invitation  was  simple 
and  wholly  agreeable,  and  I  accepted. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A     SKY     OF     STEEL 

I  met  Shaftoe  the  next  day,  according  to  appoint- 
ment, and  the  second  talk  with  him  strengthened  the 
first  impression.  He  was  a  man  who  had  served  his 
country  well  for  many  years  and  had  received  little  re- 
ward, but  was  without  bitterness.  His  steady  optimism 
made  me  feel  ashamed  of  my  momentary  fits  of  depres- 
sion, when  I  reflected  how  much  kinder  Providence  had 
been  to  me  than  to  this  veteran,  who  was  never  gloomy. 
I  introduced  him  to  Pembroke,  and  they  became  good 
friends  at  once. 

"  Sorry  you  are  going  wrong,"  said  Shaftoe  to  Pem- 
broke. "  The  South  is  in  for  a  terrible  licking,  and  she 
won't  be  able  to  say  that  it  was  in  a  just  cause." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  replied  Pembroke.  "lama  son 
of  Virginia,  and  what  Virginia  does,  that  I  do.  I  am 
like  Colonel  Randolph,  one  of  our  neighbours,  Mr., 
Shaftoe.  They  came  to  him  last  week  and  offered  him  a 
general's  commission  in  the  Confederate  army,  because 
he  was  a  veteran  of  the  Mexican  War,  and  a  man  of 
influence  and  judgment.  He  said:  'Well,  boys,  you 
will  get  whipped  like  the  devil  and  you  will  deserve  it, 
but  you  are  my  people  and  I  am  with  you.'  That's  the 
way  I  feel  about  it,  without  admitting  that  we  are  to 
get  the  whipping  or  that  we  shall  deserve  it,  and  I  mean 
no  criticism  of  you,  Henry,  for  I  believe  in  a  man  fol- 
lowing the  course  that  he  thinks  right." 
26 


A  SKY  OP  STEEL  27 

Meanwhile  the  days  passed,  and  that  most  frightful 
of  all  disasters,  a  civil  war,  came  nearer  and  nearer  to 
our  poor  country. 

The  development  of  events  in  Washington  could  not 
fail  to  be  of  the  deepest  interest.  Every  one  was  free 
to  look  on  and  watch.  The  arrival  of  Lincoln  set  the 
torch,  in  truth,  and  the  conflagration  had  begun.  And 
but  one  party  to  the  inevitable  war  was  preparing. 

Spring  again  made  treacherous  promises;  tender 
young  blades  of  grass  crept  up  among  the  withered 
herbage  of  winter,  streaks  of  green  began  to  appear  in 
the  foliage,  and  the  breezes  of  the  south  had  the  scent 
of  flowers,  but  then  the  cold  winds  would  come  again 
and  the  skies  would  turn  gray  and  overcast.  Through 
warmth  and  cold  alike  the  warlike  work  of  the  South 
went  on,  the  capital  clung  to  its  old  sloth,  and  the 
heavy  North,  immersed  in  business,  refused  to  believe; 
it  said  that  the  South  was  only  joking. 

I  kept  away  from  Paul  Warner's  house  for  the  pres- 
ent, nor  did  I  pay  my  promised  visit  to  Varian.  Yet  I 
often  heard  of  both  Elinor  and  him  through  Pem- 
broke and  Major  Tyler.  In  truth,  I  passed  Elinor  twice 
in  the  street.  Once  she  was  riding  with  Varian  and 
did  not  notice  me  until  she  was  near,  when  he  called 
her  attention.  She  bowed,  and  I  saw  a  faint  flush  on 
her  face. 

She  was  in  a  carriage  the  second  time  with  her 
aunt,  who  sat  erect,  stiff,  and  sharper  faced  than  ever. 

"  Henry,"  said  Major  Tyler  to  me,  "  the  odds  are 
ten  to  five  that  she  will  be  Varian's  wife  inside  of  six 
months.  The  uncle  favours  it  and  so  does  the  aunt, 
both  from  worldly  reasons.  The  uncle's  god  is  money, 
and  therefore  he  has  no  party;  he  wants  to  keep  favour 
with  both  sides:  if  the  South  wins,  Varian,  his  friend 
and  nephew-in-law,  will  be  a  power,  while  if  the  South 
doesn't  win  there  is  nothing  lost.  The  aunt  is  caught 
by  Varian's  foreign  glitter,  visions  of  a  title  for  her 
3 


28  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

niece,  a  great  position  at  the  French  Emperor's  court, 
and  much  reflected  glory  for  herself;  it's  a  failing  of 
our  American  women — the  only  one  that  they  have,  I 
admit.  There  were  those  Baltimore  beauties  who  mar- 
ried British  noblemen  of  high  rank,  and  they  have  set 
a  most  unfortunate  example.  Stick  to  your  own  kind, 
I  say,  and  you  will  be  happier." 

"  But  Varian  is  not  a  nobleman,"  I  said.  "  You  do 
not  even  know  that  he  is  not  American." 

"  That  is  true,"  admitted  the  major;  "  but  whatever 
he  is  he  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and  a  man  of  power.  He 
represents  at  least  one  great  sovereign,  and  perhaps 
he  can  speak  for  another,  too.  And  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you,  Henry,  for  you  know  it  already,  he's  one  of  the 
best  friends  the  South  ever  had.  What  a  pity  you  can't 
go  with  us!  Change  your  mind  and  make  your  friends 
happy." 

All  the  major's  sanguine  nature  beamed  in  his  eyes, 
and  I  saw  that  he,  too,  had  succumbed  to  the  person- 
ality and  influence  of  Varian.  He  repeated  his  state- 
ment that  Varian  would  be  Elinor's  husband  inside  of 
six  months,  and  he  asked  why  not?  Elinor  was  a  fine 
girl  and  Varian  was  a  fine  man,  and  a  fine  couple  they 
would  make.  As  for  himself,  he  was  enchanted  with 
him.  He  had  never  before  met  a  man  who  was  at 
once  a  courtier,  a  diplomatist,  a  scholar,  and  a  philoso- 
pher, a  man  of  taste  and  humour,  who  excelled  in  all 
things.     He  was  proud  to  know  him. 

Then  he  spoke  of  Varian's  value  to  the  South,  and 
from  that  subject  passed  to  the  South  itself,  speaking 
of  its  glorious  and  approaching  future. 

"  What  are  your  plans  for  an  independent  South  ?  " 
I  asked,  curious  to  see  the  full  splendour  of  the  major's 
dream. 

"  As  soon  as  our  independence  is  established  and  our 
power  consolidated  we  shall  round  out  our  empire," 
he  said  in  his  grandest  manner.     "  Cuba  is  to  come 


A  SKY  OF  STEEL  29 

first.  It  belongs  to  the  American  continent,  and  Spain 
is  no  longer  able  to  manage  the  island.  Then  we  shall 
annex  Mexico — an  easy  enough  matter,  as  she  is  eaten 
up  by  internal  dissensions  and  needs  us.  Central 
America  will  follow,  and  maybe  more  after  that.  We 
shall  have  an  empire  of  two  million  square  miles  at  the 
least,  as  much  as  Imperial  Eome  had  in  her  zenith,  and 
we  shall  build  around  the  Gulf  and  the  Caribbean  a 
power  equal  to  that  which  she  established  around  the 
Mediterranean.  Our  propaganda  is  already  in  progress; 
the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  have  attended  to 
that." 

His  eyes  sparkled  and  his  face  flushed  with  the 
splendour  of  his  vision  as  he  saw  it.  He  was  not  too 
old  to  dream  dreams.    He  never  would  be. 

The  major's  discourse  confirmed  me  in  my  avoidance 
of  Elinor  and  her  people.    But  Pembroke  reproached  me. 

"  You  are  doing  wrong,  Henry,"  he  said.  "  It's 
stupid  stubbornness,  and  I  tell  you  so.  Only  yesterday 
she  was  asking  about  you,  and  wondering  at  your 
strange  conduct.  I  was  unable  to  make  any  apology 
for  you." 

"  There  was  no  necessity  for  your  doing  so,"  I  re- 
plied hastily. 

"  You  can  not  quarrel  with  me,  I  warn  you,"  said 
the  honest  boy,  looking  at  me  so  frankly  that  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself.  He  came  the  next  day  with  a  posi- 
tive message  from  Elinor  that  I  must  see  her  at  Mr. 
Warner's. 

When  I  called  at  the  house  I  was  in  dread  lest  Mrs. 
Maynard's  sour  face  should  be  the  first  to  appear,  but 
my  fortune  was  better;  it  was  Elinor  who  met  me. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me?  "  I  said  stiffly. 

She  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  my  manner,  but 
asked  me  why  I  had  deserted  her  uncle's  house.  I 
was  embarrassed,  and  I  made  some  vague  explanations 
about  preparing  for  the  war. 


30  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  I  thought  that  I  would  not  be  missed,"  I  added, 
coming  nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  matter.  "  Mr.  Varian 
fills  my  place  so  well — that  is,  if  I  ever  had  one." 

"  It  is  sufficient  for  Mr.  Varian  to  fill  his  own  place, 
if  he  have  any,"  she  replied,  the  colour  in  her  cheeks 
deepening  a  little.  She  saw  that  I  noticed  the  new 
flush,  and  it  increased.  Then  she  attacked  me  with  fine 
irony,  telling  me  that  she  had  heard  how  I  was  passing 
my  time  in  moody  loneliness — I  knew  that  Pembroke 
was  the  informer — and  was  I  to  turn  off  all  my  old 
friends  merely  because  they  were  choosing  a  different 
side  in  the  war? 

"  Don't  you  see  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  stand  firm 
when  all  those  around  me  oppose  me?"  she  said.  "It 
is  easy  for  a  man  to  choose  his  course  and  pursue  it, 
but  what  can  a  woman  do  when  the  world  has  bound 
her  with  many  cords  ?  " 

There  was  appeal  in  her  voice,  and  I  replied,  rather 
weakly: 

"  Your  aunt  does  not  wish  me  to  come  here." 

"  Let  us  not  quarrel  now,"  she  continued.  "  The 
war  will  soon  separate  all  of  us  who  are  here  in  Wash- 
ington." 

"  And  then  we  may  never  see  each  other  again," 
I  said. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  I  left  presently.  As  I 
passed  through  the  hall  I  was  overtaken  by  Paul  War- 
ner. He  was  friendly  and  familiar,  shook  my  hand 
heartily,  and  then  took  my  arm  under  his. 

"  I  am  going  your  way,"  he  said,  "  and  we  shall  walk 
together.  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  and  you  have  seen 
Elinor.  I  am  glad  you  came.  She  has  been  inquiring 
what  has  become  of  you.  Elinor  is  a  girl  who  is  faithful 
to  old  acquaintance,  and  she  will  not  forget  when  she 
enters  upon  a  newer  and  larger  life.  It's  all  true. 
You've  heard  the  gossip,  of  course,  about  her  and 
Varian.    He  is  ready  to  think  that  the  ground  she  walks 


A  SKY  OF  STEEL  31 

on  is  sacred.  He  is  a  great  man,  too,  and  if  his  plans 
here  fail,  he'll  take  her  to  Europe,  where  she'll  have  a 
position  worthy  of  her.  It  will  be  either  Madame  la 
Comtesse  So-and-so  at  Paris,  or  My  Lady  Something- 
or-other  at  London,  and  you  and  I,  Henry,  shall  go 
over  there  some  day  and  see  them  in  all  their  glory." 

He  talked  volubly,  a  coarse  and  in  the  main  good- 
natured  man,  and  passing  from  one  topic  to  another 
soon  approached  the  subject  of  the  war. 

"  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good,  eh, 
Henry?"  he  quoted.  "Who  said  that?  Either  the 
Bible  or  Shakespeare,  I'll  wager,  and  both  are  good  au- 
thorities. Now  young  men  like  you  will  shoulder  rifles, 
go  off  and  get  killed,  while  I  shall  stay  here  and — 
and " 

"  What  shall  you  do,  Mr.  Warner?  "  I  asked,  as  he 
hesitated. 

"  I  shall  stay  here  out  of  range  of  the  bullets  and 
not  get  killed,"  he  replied. 

But  I  knew  very  well  that  he  saw  before  him  the 
gleam  of  a  pyramid  of  golden  dollars,  and  he  continued 
to  talk  of  the  opportunities  the  war  would  offer  to  the 
alert  and  the  cautious.  I  did  not  say  nay,  and  when 
we  parted  he  was  still  under  the  impression  that  I  had 
been  drinking  at  the  fountain  of  wisdom. 

Meanwhile  the  time  for  the  inauguration  of  the  new 
President  approached. 


CHAPTER  V 

MAKING   A    RULER 

The  morning  of  the  4th  of  March  came,  dark, 
cloudy,  and  threatening,  cold  winds  blowing  off  the  hills 
and  river,  and  men  and  women  wrapping  themselves  in 
cloaks  and  overcoats.  Faces  became  pinched,  and  lips 
showed  blue  in  the  blasts.  Spring  had  fled  again  with 
all  her  deceitful  promises;  the  premature  buds  were 
nipped,  the  young  green  on  the  foliage  was  frostbitten 
into  brown,  and  winter  wailed  in  full  desolation  through 
the  streets  and  around  the  houses  of  the  city. 

Yet  it  was  a  day  for  people  to  come  forth,  because  a 
new  ruler  was  about  to  take  the  office  to  which  he  had 
been  elected,  and  duty  ordered  a  whole  nation  to  rejoice 
with  him.  But  with  the  event  only  a  few  hours  away, 
there  were  still  some  who  believed  that  it  might  never 
occur;  and  many  more  who  wished  the  belief  true.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  everybody  was  forgetting  the  vast  toil 
and  cost  with  which  the  nation  had  been  built  up,  that 
sacrifices,  countless  in  number,  made  in  the  earlier  days 
had  been  dismissed  as  nothing,  and  the  counsels  of  the 
great  men,  the  memory  of  whom  all  revered,  tossed 
aside.  But  the  founders  themselves  had  shirked  the 
very  questions  now  dividing  the  people  and  threatening 
them  with  a  bloody  war;  and  I  reflected  on  the  truth  of 
the  saying,  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  on  the 
children,  although  nothing  had  been  said  about  such  a 
32 


MAKING  A  RULER  33 

heavy  compounding  of  interest  as  I  was  about  to 
witness. 

No  omen  of  good  fortune  could  be  drawn  from  the 
angry  skies  which  lowered  in  the  whole  circle  of  the 
heavens,  and  shivering  in  my  overcoat,  I  went  forth  to 
witness  the  last  act  in  the  making  of  a  ruler.  A  Con- 
gress depleted  by  the  secession  of  Southern  members 
had  voted  down  the  day  before  a  peace  resolution,  a 
proposed  compromise  which  pleased  nobody  and  an- 
gered everybody;  and  one  side  as  before  went  on  with 
its  preparations,  while  the  other  remained  absorbed  in 
business  and  still  would  not  believe. 

My  good  friends,  Shaftoe  and  Pembroke,  the  one 
for  the  Union  and  the  other  for  the  South,  were  with 
me.  Their  difference  of  opinion  never  caused  any  dis- 
agreement between  them,  nor  was  it  necessary  for  us 
in  our  talk  to  ignore  the  quarrel  which  was  about  to 
divide  the  nation.  We  could  discuss  it  with  perfect 
good  temper,  which  I  think  was  a  sure  proof  of  lasting 
friendship.  I  congratulated  myself  daily  upon  the  im- 
pulse which  had  caused  me  to  seek  the  companionship 
of  Shaftoe. 

We  passed  through  the  streets  and  joined  a  crowd 
in  front  of  Willard's  Hotel  who  were  waiting  to  see  the 
man  of  the  hour  come  forth  and  take  his  place.  It  was 
a  strange  gathering,  of  which  we  made  a  small  part: 
a  few  who  had  come  there  from  a  curiosity  of  high  pur- 
pose, and  after  these  all  the  idle  and  noisy  of  the  capi- 
tal, a  ragged  crowd,  at  least  half  of  it  negroes,  many  of 
it  boys  and  not  so  many  women,  noisy,  talkative,  chew- 
ing much  tobacco  and  spitting  more,  cracking  bad  jokes 
and  cursing  sometimes,  because  the  chief  figure  in  the 
show  did  not  hurry  upon  the  stage  and  let  himself  be 
seen,  and  yet  not  bad  natured,  nor  wishing  any  mis- 
chance to  happen,  unless  the  display  should  prove  un- 
picturesque.  The  metallic  rattle  of  arms  and  the  flash 
of  bayonets  came  down  the  avenues,  adding  to  the 


34  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

sombre  note  that  was  dominant  on  this  official  day  of 
rejoicing. 

Looking  at  my  watch,  I  saw  that  it  was  past  noon, 
and  the  new  man  had  not  come  forth  to  be  President. 
He  lingered  yet  behind  the  walls  that  had  sheltered  him 
since  his  arrival  in  the  capital,  and  the  crowd  eager  for 
its  free  show  was  becoming  impatient  and  critical.  Not 
especially  hostile  to  Lincoln,  it  grew  angry  with  him 
because  it  had  to  wait  so  long  in  the  cold  for  its  rights, 
and  I  shared  the  feeling.  Perhaps  Lincoln  at  the  very 
last  would  shirk  the  issue  and  the  mighty  risks  and  cost 
of  civil  war. 

"  He  is  afraid,"  said  some  one  aloud.  "  The  rail 
splitter  of  the  backwoods  knows  that  he  does  not  be- 
long in  the  seat  of  Washington  and  Jefferson." 

It  was  Tourville,  the  South  Carolinian,  who  spoke, 
likable  enough  most  of  the  time,  but  possessing  the 
gift  of  irresponsible  speech,  and  the  spirit  of  prophecy 
was  heavy  upon  him  just  then.  Not  far  away  hovered 
Major  Tyler,  stately  in  his  finest  array,  his  red  cheeks 
redder  in  the  March  wind,  and  his  long  white  hair  show- 
ing like  snow  against  his  black  hat  brim.  Neither  saw 
us  just  then,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  the  major 
shared  Tourville's  feelings,  as  they  began  to  jeer. 

They  talked  of  the  great  break-up  just  ahead,  the 
superiority  in  all  vital  respects  of  the  republic  that  the 
South  would  establish  to  the  shop-worn,  cast-off  rem- 
nant left  to  the  North;  the  ridiculous  nature  of  the  new 
President,  the  Illinois  rail  splitter,  the  first  ignorant 
backwoodsman  to  be  chosen  ruler  of  the  nation;  they 
wondered  if  his  message  to  the  people  would  be  merely 
a  string  of  the  bad  jokes  which  were  his  only  product. 
I  grew  angry,  but  I  held  my  wrath;  I  began  to  feel  a 
great  sympathy  for  this  Lincoln  whom  everybody 
abused.  Ugly  and  commonplace  in  bearing  he  might 
be,  but  those  sad  eyes  could  not  belong  to  a  dishonest 
or  cruel  man,  and  the  seams  in  his  face  and  stoop  in  his 


MAKING  A  RULER  35 

shoulders  had  been  made  by  work,  the  common  heritage 
of  his  countrymen.  I  had  been  disappointed  in  his 
appearance,  I  scarcely  confessed  to  myself  how  deeply, 
but  after  all  we  had  no  right  to  expect  anything  else  of 
a  man  chosen  from  surroundings  of  such  utter  democ- 
racy. Unconsciously  I  began  to  look  upon  the  new 
leader  as  a  sort  of  prophet. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think,  Henry,  that  they  are  talk- 
ing for  me  as  well  as  for  themselves,  just  because  I  am 
going  with  the  South  too,"  said  Pembroke,  looking  an- 
noyed at  the  wholesale  and  violent  criticism  to  which 
we  were  compelled  to  listen.  "  Tourville,  when  the 
blood  has  gone  to  his  head,  speaks  first  and  thinks  after- 
ward, and  the  major  is  borne  away  by  the  force  of  his 
example." 

"  Why  shouldn't  they  talk  if  they  feel  that  way?  " 
said  Shaftoe.  "  They  are  not  the  men  who  do  the 
most  harm.  It's  the  silent  ones  that  our  side  have  to 
dread." 

The  crowd  swayed  about,  and  groaned,  not  with 
pain,  but  impatience.  The  cold  wind  swept  down  from 
the  hills,  and  the  gray  circle  of  clouds  thickened  and 
darkened.  There  was  no  cheerful  note  in  all  the  sombre 
scene  save  that  which  came  from  a  little  group  of  which 
Major  Tyler  and  Tourville  had  become  the  centre;  they 
seemed  to  draw  an  acute  delight  from  the  embarrassed 
situation,  the  ominous  skies,  the  necessity  of  an  armed 
force  to  protect  the  shabby  entrance  of  the  new  ruler 
upon  his  duties,  and  the  chance  that  he  might  not  come 
out  at  all  to  take  the  oath  before  men,  but  accept  it  in 
his  own  apartments  in  the  same  secret  manner  in  which 
he  had  arrived  in  Washington.  I  suspected  that  part 
of  their  gaiety  and  talk  was  a  mere  assumption,  since 
not  even  a  friend  of  the  South  and  wellwisher  of  its 
plans  could  feel  very  cheerful  at  such  a  gloomy  scene, 
surely  serving  some  day  as  a  landmark  from  which  to 
date  many  disasters.     We  walked  farther  away,  not. 


36  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

wishing  to  hear  more,  drawing  our  overcoat  collars 
higher  around  our  faces  and  turning  our  backs  to  the 
winds  from  the  hills,  which  were  growing  colder  and 
cut  to  the  bone. 

The  shabby  crowd  billowed  and  heaved  like  deep 
waters  in  a  storm,  began  to  give  forth  shouts  and  ap- 
proving cries,  and  then  parted  in  half,  forming  a  narrow 
lane,  down  which  came  a  carriage  containing  a  single 
man,  and  that  man  old  and  troubled.  He  was  a  large, 
but  awkward  figure,  the  wrinkles  and  seams  were  inter- 
woven thickly  on  his  broad  face,  and  his  hair  was  short, 
thin,  and  gray.  He  was  very  old,  showing  all  his  years 
and  more,  and  his  look  of  time  was  heightened  by  his 
old-fashioned  dress;  his  silk  hat  was  low  in  the  crown 
and  extremely  broad  in  the  brim,  his  tall,  stiff  collar 
cut  his  ears,  and  over  his  chest  and  throat  surged  the 
waves  and  folds  of  a  huge  white  tie.  Beneath  the  col- 
lar and  tie  all  his  dress  was  jet  black,  the  swallowtail 
coat  of  a  cut  many  years  earlier.  The  man's  appearance 
was  not  without  dignity,  but  the  pathetic  note  predomi- 
nated. His  whole  aspect  was  of  one  crushed  by  care;  it 
showed  in  the  sunken  eyes,  the  seamed  face,  and  the 
drooping  lines  around  the  mouth.  It  seemed  fitting 
that  he  should  be  alone  in  the  carriage,  for  so  he  was  in 
the  world,  rejected  by  all  the  parties,  including  his  own, 
paying  the  usual  price  of  one  who  tries  to  please  people 
who  do  not  please  each  other. 

There  was  a  hum  in  the  crowd  as  he  rode  through, 
followed  by  a  faint  groan,  a  cheer  equally  faint,  and 
then  apathetic  silence.  The  men  and  the  women  and 
the  boys  showed  no  curiosity,  their  interest  in  him 
was  due  solely  to  the  fact  that  he  was  the  signal  for 
something  else,  and  after  the  signal  they  waited  for 
the  other. 

The  solemn,  gloomy  man  went  on,  turning  his  heavy 
eyes  but  once  or  twice  to  look  upon  the  crowd  that  four 
years  before  had  watched  him  coming  in,  not  going 


MAKING  A  RULER  37 

out,  and,  full  of  eager  curiosity,  had  thundered  in  ap- 
plause at  the  sight  of  his  face.  He  felt  the  full  keen- 
ness of  the  old  and  cruel  jest,  "  The  king  is  dead;  long 
live  the  king! "  and  he  knew  that  the  reign  of  the 
dying  king  would  never  be  considered  glorious.  He, 
too,  shivered  a  little  as  the  cold  winds  cut  his  face,  and 
drew  the  collar  of  his  coat  more  closely  around  his  neck. 
I  looked  once  at  the  group  of  Southerners;  they  were 
regarding  the  man  in  the  carriage  with  eyes  in  which 
anger  and  contempt  were  mingled,  as  if  he  had  been 
half  their  friend  and  then  had  failed. 

The  solemn  coachman  stopped  at  the  hotel  and 
opened  the  door  of  the  carriage  for  the  sombre  old  man, 
who  climbed  heavily  and  awkwardly  out,  disappearing 
a  moment  later  in  the  building. 

The  crowd  burst  into  talk  when  he  had  gone,  but  in 
another  minute  relapsed  into  the  silence  of  waiting. 
We  pushed  a  little  closer,  looking  over  the  heads  of 
those  shorter  than  ourselves. 

The  door  of  the  hotel  opened  again,  and  the  old 
man  came  out  arm  in  arm  with  another  man,  as  solemn 
and  awkward  as  himself.  The  second  towered  over  the 
first,  despite  the  stoop  in  his  shoulders,  and  had  he 
straightened  himself  up  there  would  have  been  none 
perhaps  in  the  watching  crowd  to  match  him  in  height. 
Gaunt,  hollow-cheeked,  his  face  too  a  network  of  seams, 
with  the  sad,  pathetic  eyes  looking  from  under  the 
heavy  brows,  he  also  was  a  melancholy  figure,  and  it 
seemed  fitting  that  the  two  men  should  lean  upon  each 
other.  His  costume  was  as  sombre  and  old-fashioned 
as  his  companion's — new  in  cloth,  but  bad  in  cut,  and 
seeming  in  every  particular  to  have  been  made  for 
some  one  else.  He  carried  in  his  disengaged  hand  a 
great  black  cane  with  a  huge  gold  head,  and  as  he 
twirled  it  about  in  his  uneasy  awkwardness  it  gave  to 
his  bearing  a  strange  grotesqueness,  at  which  one,  how- 
ever, could  never  laugh.     Nobody  was  further  from 


38  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

laughing  than  I;  the  pathos  of  this  man,  his  uncon- 
scious air  of  martyrdom,  his  look  of  benignity  which 
seemed  to  embrace  all,  friends  and  enemies  alike,  im- 
pressed me  more  powerfully  than  ever,  and  made  me 
forget  his  awkwardness  and  ugliness. 

The  same  impression  seemed  to  have  been  made 
upon  the  thoughtless  or  sneering  crowd;  no  one  spoke 
aloud  when  the  two  appeared,  and  the  silence  continued 
while  they  climbed  heavily  into  the  carriage.  There 
they  sat  side  by  side,  the  old  and  the  new,  and  the  sol- 
emn coachman,  turning  his  solemn  horses,  drove  sol- 
emnly toward  the  Capitol,  the  crowd  stringing  out  be- 
hind it  in  a  procession  which  was  not  dignified,  nor  was 
it  disorderly — merely  curious  and  often  ragged  and  im- 
mature. 

The  two  men  in  the  carriage  never  looked  back  at 
their  following,  and  rarely  spoke  to  each  other.  No  ray 
of  sunlight  fell  upon  them.  Once  I  thought  I  felt  a 
dash  of  rain  against  my  face,  but  looking  up  I  saw 
only  the  threatening  clouds  stalking  across  the  sky. 
There  was  no  colour  in  all  the  scene  save  the  gleam  of 
bayonets,  and  that  added  only  another  sombre  touch 
to  the  tragedy.  Soldiers  had  been  there  at  similar 
events,  but  never  before  with  the  expectation  of  using 
the  arms  they  carried.  Shaftoe  and  Pembroke  walked 
by  my  side  in  silence. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  a  square  platform  built 
from  the  Capitol,  and  the  two  helped  each  other 
out.  Nobody  looked  at  the  first,  all  at  the  second  man 
who  walked  upon  the  wooden  stage  and  stood  for  a 
moment  facing  ten  thousand  people  looking  so  curiously 
at  him;  he  took  off  his  hat  and  held  it  awkwardly  in 
one  hand,  while  he  swung  the  great  cane  with  equal 
awkwardness  in  the  other.  There  were  men  at  the  far 
corner  of  the  platform,  but  none  came  forward,  none 
spoke.  His  look  became  embarrassed,  and  the  crowd 
gazing  at  him  felt  a  strange  embarrassment  too;  neither 


MAKING  A  RULER  39 

seemed  to  know  what  to  do,  and  each  understood  the 
trouble  of  the  other.  I  shared  the  feeling,  and  the  pain 
of  the  suspense  was  increased  when  my  eyes  wandered 
beyond  the  lone  figure  in  black  and  stopped  at  another 
figure,  a  Texas  senator  whom  I  knew,  a  zealous  sup- 
porter of  the  new  Southern  empire,  a  bitter  enemy  of 
the  old  republic  as  it  stood,  leaning  against  the  doorway 
of  the  Capitol,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  his 
face  smiling,  contemptuous,  his  white  teeth  showing  as 
he  looked  upon  the  new  ruler,  standing  in  awkward 
silence,  and  the  waiting  and  puzzled  crowd  below;  he 
did  not  move  or  speak,  but  remained  fixed  in  his  dra- 
matic attitude,  his  smiling  gaze,  which  contained  only 
irony,  passing  from  Lincoln  to  the  crowd  and  from  the 
crowd  to  Lincoln,  as  if  he  would  cast  a  malignant  spell 
over  both. 

The  tall  man  in  black  at  last  leaned  his  great  cane 
against  a  corner  of  the  railing  that  surrounded  him  like 
the  boards  of  a  pen,  and  looked  vainly  for  a  place  to 
put  his  hat.  A  short,  thickset  man  stepped  from  the  si- 
lent group  behind  him  and  taking  the  hat  from  his 
hands  held  it  and  waited.  The  rescuer  was  one  of  those 
whom  Lincoln  had  beaten  in  the  race  for  the  Presi- 
dency, the  choice  of  a  great  party,  and  the  crowd,  seeing 
the  grace  of  the  act,  the  first  of  the  day  not  marked  by 
constraint  or  awkwardness,  applauded,  though  not 
loudly,  the  gloomy  heavens  and  the  strange  nature  of 
the  moment  seeming  to  forbid  much  noise. 

Then  another  came  forward,  a  figure,  older  and 
drier  and  thinner  than  all  that  had  gone  before,  a 
wrinkled  man,  clad  in  heavy  black  robes,  out  of  which 
his  face  looked,  as  pale  as  that  of  the  dead.  The  Chief 
Justice  of  the  nation  was  ready  to  administer  the  oath 
to  the  new  President,  while  the  old  one,  who  had  ridden 
with  him  in  the  carriage,  compelled  by  custom  to  assist 
at  his  own  burial,  was  about  to  pass  his  last  minute  of 
office. 


40  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  The  parson  has  come,  the  funeral  can  go  on,"  said 
some  one,  and  others  laughed. 

Yet  I  was  forced  to  admit  the  justice  of  the  com- 
parison. Those  weary  old  men  waiting  there,  and 
then  the  oldest  of  them  all  appearing  in  his  black  robes, 
struck  me  with  a  deeper  chill  than  any  that  I  had  felt 
before.  My  thoughts  had  always  given  funerals  a  colour 
and  note  like  this — sodden  gray  skies,  a  raw  March 
wind,  wrinkled  old  men  in  black  reciting  mechanical 
phrases  in  monotonous  voices,  and  a  group  of  silent 
people  listening  in  pious  resignation,  anxious  to  get  it 
over  quickly  and  go  home.  Yes,  it  was  a  funeral,  and 
perhaps  but  few  sincere  mourners  were  present. 

The  old  man,  the  oldest  of  the  old,  administered  the 
oath;  the  new  President  was  born  and  the  old  one, 
standing  sadly  in  the  background,  the  heavy  lids  droop- 
ing over  his  eyes,  ceased  to  be. 

Mr.  Lincoln  then  turned  his  face  to  the  crowd  and 
read  his  address,  according  to  the  custom  prescribed  to 
new  presidents.  Much  of  his  awkwardness,  his  air  of 
hesitation,  had  vanished,  and  he  straightened  the  curve 
out  of  his  shoulders,  showing  his  real  great  height;  his 
voice  became  clear  and  strong  as  he  read  the  words,  and 
he  looked  with  an  air  of  confidence  over  the  crowd, 
which  he  knew  contained  so  many  threatening  to  him- 
self. He  understood  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the 
scene  in  which  he  was  the  chief  and  almost  the  only 
actor;  that  he  was  pronouncing  a  benediction  to  be 
followed  immediately  not  by  peace,  but  by  a  bloody  con- 
vulsion involving  the  whole  nation,  and  himself  perhaps 
as  the  chief  victim.  Though  seeing  all  these  things  with 
the  preternatural  foresight  which  Nature  had  given  to 
him  as  a  recompense,  and  over,  for  many  of  the  things 
which  she  had  bestowed  upon  the  ordinary  man,  but 
not  him,  he  did  not  flinch,  and  I  saw  in  his  manner 
and  bearing  evidences  of  the  rare  quality  which  consti- 
tutes true  greatness,  a  courage  that  increases  with  the 


MAKING  A  RULER  41 

dangers  confronting  it.  The  ugliness  of  his  face  passed 
away  and  I  beheld  only  the  light  of  his  eyes — brave, 
forgiving,  and  still  pathetic. 

The  penetrating  voice  went  on  with  the  reading,  and 
once  or  twice  the  crowd  applauded,  though  not  with 
spirit.  The  theatrical  figure  of  the  sneering  senator 
leaning  against  the  doorway  did  not  stir,  nor  did 
the  look  upon  his  face  depart.  The  chilling  blasts 
came  oftener  from  the  hills  and  fluttered  the  black 
coat-tails  of  the  speaker  about  his  long  and  spare  figure, 
the  thin-blooded  old  men  shivered  in  their  heavy 
clothes,  and  the  ancient  Chief  Justice  drew  his  head 
down  into  his  collar  like  a  mouse  going  into  its  hole. 

My  eyes  wandered  a  moment  from  the  President's 
face  to  the  city  about  us.  The  Capitol  rose  above  us 
white  and  gleaming,  despite  the  clouds,  and  along  the 
hills  and  slopes  were  other  structures,  massive  and  built 
for  time,  but  the  old  and  civilized  was  still  jostled  by 
the  new  and  untamed.  The  crowd  itself  was  shabby  in 
the  main;  many  of  the  men  on  the  platform  and  near  it, 
names  of  note  in  the  nation,  were  careless  in  dress,  and 
seemed  to  take  little  thought  of  appearances.  Signs  of 
newness  were  yet  visible  everywhere;  the  people  stood 
forth  in  all  their  raw  strength,  unadorned,  and  uncon- 
scious of  it,  a  race  that  had  known  little  in  its  life  but 
hard  work  and  expected  nothing  else.  I  saw  men  of 
either  section  about  us,  and  I  noticed  them  closely;  I 
knew  how  much  those  lank  and  often  awkward  figures 
could  do  and  endure,  and  I  felt  a  sudden  glow  of  pride 
which  the  most  peaceful  can  not  escape,  evil  though  it 
may  be,  that  if  they  must  make  a  war  what  a  war  they 
would  make! 

The  sombre  clouds  threatened  rain  again,  and  the 
arms  of  the  soldiers  rattled  as  they  shifted  their  posts; 
but  I  paid  no  attention,  forgetting  my  comrades,  fol- 
lowing only  the  speaker,  who  was  now  near  the  end 
of  his  address,  and  confident,  as  I  saw  the  light  in  his 


42  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

eyes,  that  this  was  the  man  for  the  time  and  place. 
The  crowd  began  to  disperse,  its  fringe  dropped  off, 
disappearing  silently.  Nothing  impressed  me  more  than 
the  lack  of  noise  on  a  day  usually  so  noisy,  and  it 
seemed  fitting;  perhaps  the  same  feeling  had  taken  hold 
of  the  careless  mob.  Little  streams  of  people  flowed 
away,  and  the  grayness  that  enveloped  the  city  swal- 
lowed them  up;  two  or  three  of  the  old  men  crept  from 
the  stage  and  into  the  building,  where  they  sought  to 
warm  their  withered  fingers;  the  lake  of  heads  around 
the  wooden  stage  diminished  steadily  as  the  streams 
trickled  off  in  all  directions,  and  I  saw  Tourville,  Major 
Tyler,  and  their  friends  preparing  to  go. 

The  speaker  finished,  and  stood  a  moment  looking 
over  the  heads  of  the  people,  his  melancholy  eyes  not 
seeing  them,  seeing  only  what  was  in  his  thoughts,  and 
that  I  did  not  know;  then  he  turned  and  walked  quietly 
from  the  stage,  the  feeble  applause  quickly  dying, 
and  the  crowd  dispersing  with  little  noise  in  the  gray 
fog.  My  mind  was  full  of  the  event  I  had  just  wit- 
nessed, so  shabby  in  some  of  its  aspects,  yet  so  solemn 
and  significant,  and  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  I 
recalled  the  presence  of  Shaftoe  and  Pembroke.  Then 
Pembroke  said  that  Elinor  and  her  uncle  and  aunt  were 
near.  They  were  in  Paul  Warner's  carriage,  and  the 
crowd  had  hidden  them  from  us  until  the  inauguration 
was  over.  Varian  was  on  horseback  by  the  carriage, 
and  Elinor,  closely  wrapped  in  a  long  gray  cloak,  sat 
beside  her  aunt.  We  approached,  and  Varian  raised  his 
hat  cheerfully. 

"  Was  it  comedy  or  tragedy  that  we  have  just  wit- 
nessed, Mr.  Kingsford?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tragedy,"  I  replied,  "  with  perhaps  a  slight  touch 
of  comedy." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  he  continued.  "  It  is  likely 
to  be  the  last  of  its  kind,  and  the  end  of  anything  is 
pathetic." 


MAKING  A  RULER  43 

"  I  can  not  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Varian,"  said  Elinor, 
with  sudden  emphasis.  "  I  believe  that  you  and  your 
friends  will  find  in  that  melancholy,  awkward  man  a 
far  more  powerful  opponent  than  you  expect." 

"  We  always  defer  to  the  opinion  of  a  lady,  even 
when  she  is  wrong,"  said  Varian,  with  his  most  grace- 
ful bow. 

"  Wherein  you  do  not  compliment  the  lady,"  replied 
Elinor  with  spirit;  "  if  you  wish  to  flatter  us,  disagree 
with  us  sometimes,  as  you  would  with  men,  and  it  will 
show  that  you  take  our  opinions  seriously." 

"I  suggest  that  we  drive  on,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard, 
with  some  asperity.  "  This  east  wind  is  dangerous,  at 
least  to  one  of  my  age." 

It  seemed  that  Pembroke  and  I  brought  the  east 
wind  with  us,  but  her  request  could  not  be  disregarded, 
and  so  the  carriage  drove  on,  with  Varian  riding  be- 
side it,  while  Pembroke,  Shaftoe,  and  I  walked  slowly 
away. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN"   EVENING   WITH   VARIAN 

Affairs  drifted,  both  those  of  the  nation  and  my 
own,  which,  however  humble  compared  with  the  inter- 
ests of  thirty  millions,  were  none  the  less  important  to 
me.  The  new  President,  they  said,  showed  gleams  of  a 
crude,  but  rather  Western  humour;  he  had  even  taken 
in  good  part,  so  it  was  reported,  a  suggestion  made  by  a 
distinguished  member  of  his  cabinet  that,  inasmuch  as 
he  was  inexperienced,  he  let  the  aforesaid  distinguished 
gentleman  perform  for  him  the  duties  of  his  office,  and 
thus  reign,  but  not  rule.  It  was  said  that  he  received 
the  suggestion  with  becoming  gravity  and  gratitude, 
although  he  declined  the  kindly  offer.  It  was  argued 
that  this  showed  on  his  part  at  least  a  sense  of  the 
superior  merit  of  others,  and  therefore  he  was  not 
wholly  undeserving. 

Meanwhile  the  South  increased  her  armaments,  and 
the  sluggish  North  still  would  not  believe. 

I  saw  Elinor  several  times  in  this  interval  of  wait- 
ing, despite  the  cold  and  scrutinizing  gaze  of  Mrs.  May- 
nard,  who  seemed  to  have  discovered  reasons  why  I 
should  be  subjected  to  a  critical  analysis;  but  I  have 
been  charged  with  having  a  stubborn  nature,  and  I 
resolved  that  Elinor's  aunt  should  be  brought  to  a 
proper  and  realizing  sense  of  my  value. 

About  a  week  after  the  inauguration,  when  I  had 
been  out  for  a  morning's  ride  and  was  returning  toward 
44 


AN  EVENING  WITH  VARIAN  45 

the  city  from  the  Eock  Creek  country,  I  overtook 
Elinor.  She  was  breathing  her  chestnut  mare  after  a 
sharp  gallop,  and  her  cheeks  were  brilliant  with  the 
exercise  and  the  cold  wind  of  early  spring.  We  rode 
slowly  toward  the  city. 

I  knew  that  she  and  her  aunt  expected  to  go  home 
in  a  very  short  time,  and  I  asked  her  if  the  day  had 
been  chosen.  When  she  replied  that  it  was  only  a  week 
away  I  gave  some  suggestions  about  the  mode  of  travel, 
feeling  that  I  had  a  right  to  do  so  in  such  troubled 
times. 

"  But  we  shall  not  be  alone,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Varian 
is  also  going  to  the  West,  and  he  has  promised  us  his 
protection.  You  know  that  he  has  great  influence,  and 
I  do  not  understand  how  he  has  obtained  it,  but  Aunt 
Ellen  says  that  the  members  of  the  new  Government  are 
ready  to  do  much  for  him,  if  he  will  only  ask." 

Her  gaze  met  mine  firmly,  but  the  scarlet  in  her 
cheeks  became  brighter.  I  felt  a  burst  of  angry  resent- 
ment because  Varian  seemed  to  have  become  indis- 
pensable to  everybody  for  whom  I  cared,  but  I  am 
thankful  that  I  was  able  to  control  the  impulse — and 
who  was  I  to  call  free  men  and  women  to  account  for 
what  they  did? 

"  I  wish  often,"  I  said,  "  that  I  could  have  spent  a 
few  years  in  Europe.  Perhaps  we  Americans  are  prone 
to  undervalue  some  of  the  graces  and  courtlier  usages 
which  they  seem  there  to  think  so  important.  I  won- 
der if  this  finer  finish  really  has  so  much  weight  with 
men.  I  am  quite  sure  that  women  are  willing  to  in- 
clude it  among  the  Ten  Commandments." 

"  I  think  that  you  are  trying  to  draw  an  indictment 
of  Mr.  Varian,  Henry,"  she  replied,  the  scarlet  again 
deepening  in  her  cheeks,  "  and  that  would  indicate  a 
fear  lest  he  might  be  superior  in  some  respect."  Then 
she  continued  more  seriously:  "  This  finer  finish,  as  you 
call  it,  has  its  influence  not  only  upon  women,  but  upon 


46  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

men  as  well,  much  though  they  may  deny  it.  We  always 
speak  highly  of  a  rough  diamond,  but  I  should  like  to 
ask  you  if  a  rough  diamond  is  any  better  than  a 
diamond  cut  and  polished,  or  as  good?  I  do  not  think 
so,  nor  do  I  see  why  Mr.  Varian  alone  should  possess 
these  qualities  of  which  you  speak." 

We  were  silent  during  the  remainder  of  the  ride, 
and  I  noticed  the  lithe  and  strong  figure,  and  the  firm 
face  of  the  girl  who  rode  beside  me.  She  had  been 
lately  a  puzzle  to  me.  I  fancy  that  all  women  are  always 
a  puzzle  to  us,  but  I  felt  that  whenever  she  chose  a 
course  she  would  be  likely  to  pursue  it.  Whether  I 
liked,  then,  that  quality  in  her  I  could  not  say. 

I  paid  my  promised  visit  to  Varian  on  the  evening 
of  the  same  day.  His  rooms  were  the  most  beautiful 
that  I  had  entered  in  Washington,  and  notable  among 
all  the  articles  gathered  there  from  many  regions  was 
the  collection  of  swords,  daggers,  and  knives  that 
adorned  his  walls.  I  believe  that  every  nation  and  tribe 
had  sent  a  weapon. 

"  Spolia  opima,  Kingsford,"  he  said,  following  my 
eyes  and  laughing;  "  but  I  hope  you  will  not  think  my 
fondness  for  sharp  edges  is  an  index  to  my  character. 
I  wish  to  add,  too,  that  this  luxury  which  you  see  is 
merely  for  the  eye.  I  really  live  like  a  soldier.  Look 
through  that  open  door  there  and  behold  my  bedroom. 
Is  it  not  furnished  with  entire  simplicity?" 

A  faint  apology  seemed  to  be  lurking  in  his  tone, 
but  I  had  never  accused  him  even  silently  of  effeminacy. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  manner  to  suggest  it,  and,  as 
he  said  truly,  the  luxury  of  his  chambers  was  the  luxury 
of  the  eye  and  not  of  the  body. 

I  heard  much  laughter  and  talk  in  the  next  room. 

"  Our  friends,"  he  said.  "  You  are  the  last  to 
arrive." 

We  passed  into  the  adjoining  apartment,  and  I 
found  that  in  truth  a  cheerful  company  was  assembled 


AN  EVENING  WITH  VARIAN  47 

there,  and,  as  was  fit  and  natural,  its  centre  was  Major 
Titus  Tyler,  of  Mississippi,  radiant  with  good  humour 
and  describing  minutely  and  at  length  the  manner  in 
which  he,  assisted  by  some  companies  of  soldiers,  re- 
pulsed the  great  charge  of  the  Mexican  cavalry  at 
Buena  Vista.  The  listening  circle  was  composed  of 
Pembroke,  Tourville,  Charlie  Mason,  a  Pennsylvanian, 
and  two  men  whom  I  did  not  know.  One  of  the  latter 
was  young  and  apparently  a  Frenchman,  the  other  was 
middle-aged  and  certainly  American.  I  liked  the  looks 
of  the  Frenchman,  one  of  those  yellow-haired,  blue-eyed 
Gauls,  from  the  north  of  France,  but  the  American  had 
heavy  lowering  features,  thin,  cruel  lips,  and  teeth  like 
a  wolf's. 

"  Monsieur  Henri  Louis  Eaoul  Auguste  de  Cour- 
celles,  of  Brittany  and  Paris,"  Varian  said  ornately, 
nodding  toward  the  Frenchman,  "  this  is  Mr.  Kingsford; 
you  are  two  friends  of  mine  who  ought  to  know  each 
other." 

The  Frenchman  smiled  and  showed  his  white  teeth 
as  the  syllables  of  his  long  name  flowed  off  Varian's  lips. 
I  judged  that  its  length  troubled  him  little,  and  know- 
ing that  I  would  like  him,  I  hoped  that  he  would  like 
me  as  well. 

"  De  Courcelles  was  a  lieutenant  of  mine  in  some 
little  diplomatic  affairs  abroad,"  said  Varian;  "  and  he 
is  to  take  my  place  here  while  I  go  South  to  get  myself 
perforated  by  a  Yankee  bullet." 

Then  he  introduced  the  second  man  briefly  as  Mr. 
Covin  Blanchard,  also,  more  or  less,  an  associate  of  his 
in  a  diplomatic  way.  Mr.  Blanchard  said  nothing,  but 
made  his  acknowledgments  with  a  curt  nod.  He  seemed 
to  have  the  gift  of  silence,  and  I  gave  him  credit  for  it, 
not  wishing,  however,  to  continue  the  acquaintance. 

"  The  Mexican  cavalry  were  advancing  at  a  gallop, 
the  pennons  and  steel  of  their  lances  glittering  and 
flashing  in  the  sunlight,"  said  Major  Tyler.     "  The 


48  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

thunder  of  hoofs  was  like  the  roar  of  a  coming  hurri- 
cane, and  drawing  my  sword,  I " 

"  While  the  cavalry  are  coming,  suppose  that  we 
take  a  little  wine,  major,"  said  Varian,  putting  his  hand 
on  Major  Tyler's  shoulder  in  the  most  friendly  manner. 
"  A  stimulant  will  give  strength  at  such  a  critical  mo- 
ment for  the  shock." 

"  Just  what  I  would  have  proposed,"  replied  Major 
Tyler,  with  zest;  "  and,  Mr.  Varian,  you  are  a  true  mili- 
tary genius." 

A  servant  brought  the  wine,  hut  Varian  himself 
poured  it,  holding  the  bottle  high  and  letting  a  thin, 
red  stream  flow  into  the  glass. 

"  This  wine  had  its  origin  on  a  German  hillside,  and 
it  has  found  its  flavour  in  a  German  cellar,"  he  said. 
"  I  fear,  too,  that  your  Government  has  collected  no 
duty  upon  it.  I  make  the  avowal  without  shame,  such 
an  achievement  being  one  of  the  weaknesses  of  human 
nature.  Perhaps  you  do  not  drink  much  wine,  Mr. 
Kingsford.  Few  Americans  do.  It  is  only  the  older 
and  more  advanced  nations  that  use  it  habitually. 
I  think  that  you  can  measure  the  civilization  of  any 
people  by  its  taste  in  wine.  In  truth,  it  is  the  only 
infallible  test.  When  a  race  is  young,  strong,  rough, 
and  boisterous,  it  likes  whisky,  beer,  and  other  crude 
liquors,  but  when  it  grows  old,  polite,  and  discriminat- 
ing, it  develops  a  fine  taste  in  wine.  If  you  apply  this 
test  you  will  find  that  the  French  are  the  most  highly 
civilized  people  in  the  world,  a  fact  which  can  not  be 
denied,  and  the  Spanish  and  Austrians  come  next.  It 
shows  also  that  the  English  are  the  least  civilized  people 
in  Europe,  although  they  are  at  the  same  time  the 
strongest." 

"  And  continuing  your  argument,"  I  said,  "  we,  I 
suppose,  are  the  last  of  all  the  white  races  in  civiliza- 
tion?" 

"  Undoubtedly,"  he  replied;  "  but  let  me  add,  Mr. 


AN  EVENING  WITH  VARIAN  49 

Kingsford,  that  civilization,  in  my  opinion,  consists 
chiefly  of  forms;  and  forms,  as  all  of  us  know,  are  often 
deceitful.  I  would  never  undertake  to  say  that  the  most 
highly  civilized  nation  is  the  hest.  Your  glasses,  gentle- 
men! Mr.  Kingsford,  let  us  drink,  each  to  his  heart's 
best  wish." 

He  looked  straight  into  my  eyes  as  he  lifted  his  glass, 
and  I  met  his  gaze  with  a  resolution  that  mine  should 
not  waver,  for  I  understood  his  meaning.  He  paused 
when  the  glass  was  near  his  lips,  and  repeated,  still  keep- 
ing his  eyes  on  mine :  "  Each  to  his  heart's  best  wish, 
Mr.  Kingsford!  "  I  drank,  and  repeated:  "  Each  to  his 
heart's  best  wish,  Mr.  Varian!  " 

"  Which  ought  to  mean  to  those  who  are  or  expect 
to  become  soldiers,"  said  De  Courcelles,  "  glory  on  the 
battlefield  and  a  true  sweetheart  at  home.  Mr.  Varian 
has  just  given  to  us  Frenchmen  the  credit  of  the  high- 
est civilization,  although  he  would  seem  to  deny  us 
the  greatest  morality,  and  perhaps  we  have  acquired 
through  the  former  a  sense  of  discrimination  which  tells 
us  what  constitutes  genuine  happiness.  France  is  too 
old  to  have  any  illusions  about  happiness,  although 
she  may  be  mistaken  sometimes  in  her  choice  of  means 
to  obtain  it." 

"  Such  distinctions  are  too  fine  for  me,"  said  Major 
Tyler,  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully.  "  I  only  know 
that  when  the  thunder  of  the  Mexican  cavalry  grew 
louder,  and  our  companies  preparing  themselves  for  the 
shock  rallied  around  me,  I " 

He  was  interrupted  by  Varian,  who  sat  down  at  the 
piano  and  began  to  play.  A  year  ago  I  would  have  con- 
sidered a  piano  in  a  man's  rooms  a  mark  of  effeminacy, 
taking  the  thought  from  the  surroundings  of  my  youth, 
but  I  had  learned  better,  knowing,  too,  as  it  had  been 
told  to  me,  that  the  rough  diamond  was  not  necessarily 
better  than  the  cut  and  polished  gem. 

He  played  new  music,  a  music  that  I  had  never 


50  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

heard  before,  a  strange,  wailing  note  that  pierced  the 
heart  at  first  like  a  human  voice  in  agony,  but,  growing 
louder  and  louder,  changed  into  a  song  of  joy,  swelling 
like  the  crash  of  the  sea,  then  dying  away  with  a  last 
faint  echo. 

"Who  composed  that?"  asked  Pembroke. 

"  A  mad  German  musician,"  replied  Varian.  "  At 
least,  the  other  composers  call  him  mad,  although  I 
suspect  the  next  generation  will  swear  that  he  is  a  mas- 
ter genius." 

We  asked  him  to  play  again,  but  he  dismissed  the 
subject  with  easy  indifference,  saying:  "It  is  only  a 
trifle  or  two  that  I  know;  I  have  no  real  skill,  and  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  touch  a  key  in  the  presence  of  a 
master." 

Then  he  talked  of  books  and  art,  and  I  noticed  that 
wherever  he  led  the  conversation  the  others  followed  as 
if  he  had  chosen  the  very  subject  of  which  they  wished 
to  speak.  The  charm  of  his  manner  was  over  them  all. 
He  had  personal  magnetism,  and  whatever  he  said  they 
felt  at  once  that  it  was  true.  I  noticed,  too,  what  the 
rest  of  the  company  did  not,  that  always  he  spoke  di- 
rectly to  me. 

"  Do  you  play,  Mr.  Kingsf ord  ?  Perhaps  you  would 
oblige  us,"  he  asked,  nodding  toward  the  piano. 

I  confessed  that  I  could  not,  and  I  admitted,  too, 
my  unfamiliarity  with  other  topics  upon  which  he  led 
the  talk.  Once  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  We  haven't  had  time  yet,"  said  Pembroke,  "  to 
acquire  all  the  more  graceful  arts." 

"  But  you  will  acquire  them,"  said  De  Courcelles. 
"  There  is  a  dash  of  the  French  spirit  in  your  nature 
which  will  make  you  an  improvement  on  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  of  Europe,  a  bulldog  of  a  more  handsome  breed. 
We  Frenchmen  are  egotistical,  but  how  can  we  help  it 
with  such  good  cause?  " 


AN  EVENING  WITH   VARIAN  51 

We  laughed,  and  Varian,  taking  a  foil,  began  to 
show  us  swordsmanship  as  it  was  practised  in  the 
best  schools  of  Europe.  He  held,  so  he  said,  that  the 
finer  arts  could  not  save  if  those  requiring  skill  and 
courage  were  not  practised  at  the  same  time,  and  we 
agreed  with  him.  I  admired  the  strength  and  supple- 
ness of  his  wrist,  the  light  balancing  of  his  strong 
figure,  and  the  alert  eyes,  as  he  showed  us  the  latest 
tricks  in  thrust  and  parry. 

"  The  sword  is  more  ornamental  than  useful  to  an 
officer  in  battle,"  he  said,  "  and  the  duel  has  been  abol- 
ished in  England.  Here,  I  understand,  it  is  now  prac- 
tised only  in  the  South,  and  even  there  is  often  an  im- 
promptu affair;  but  it  has  claims  to  consideration.  I 
think  sometimes  that  it  should  have  remained  a  re- 
spected institution.  It  was  the  world's  most  sovereign 
remedy  for  idle  and  malicious  tongues,  and  the  edge 
of  the  tongue  has  done  more  harm  than  the  edge  of  the 
sword.  Preserve  the  latter,  and  perhaps  we  should  not 
have  the  former." 

He  turned  presently  to  me  and  said: 

"  You  are  a  Kentuckian,  Mr.  Kirigsford,  and  they 
practise  there  all  the  manly  arts,  including  the  appeal 
to  arms  for  the  sake  of  honour.  Perhaps  you  would  try 
the  foils  with  me  a  little?     Do  you  know  the  sword?" 

My  father  had  been  a  swordsman  in  his  time,  and 
he  trained  me,  not  with  the  expectation  of  use,  but  as  a 
gentle  accomplishment.  I  do  not  think  that  Varian 
expected  me  to  accept,  but  he  smiled  when  I  said  that 
I  would  take  a  foil  and  stand  before  him. 

"  I  would  not  do  it,  Henry,"  said  Pembroke  in  a 
low  tone,  when  Varian  went  into  the  next  room  for  the 
masks.     "  You  will  appear  at  a  disadvantage." 

"  Others  doubtless  think  so  too,"  I  replied,  "  but  I 
may  be  a  better  swordsman  than  you  think,  Pembroke." 

Varian  in  a  slight  tone  of  instruction,  which  I  did 
not  appear  to  notice,  advised  me  how  to  adjust  my  mask, 


52  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

and  then,  taking  our  foils  in  hand,  we  stood  before  each 
other. 

"  I  will  look  after  Mr.  Kingsford,"  said  De  Cour- 
celles,  "  and  by  my  lady's  smile,  I  like  his  position. 
Surely  he  learned  that  from  some  one  taught  in  the 
school  of  the  French  masters." 

"  Will  you  do  a  similar  good  work  for  me,  Mr.  Pem- 
broke? "  asked  Varian,  and  Pembroke  moved  to  his  side 
of  the  room. 

I  felt  my  blood  leaping  higher  than  a  mere  friendly 
massage  at  arms  gave  warrant,  and  I  tightened  my 
ngers  on  the  hilt  of  the  foil.  Varian's  eyes  flashed  be- 
veen  the  bars  of  his  mask,  and  I  thought  that  I  saw 
in  them  the  glitter  of  malice.  He  would  show  his  supe- 
riority, and  I  resented  the  intent. 

"Not. quite  so  tight,"  said  De  Courcelles  to  me. 
"  You  strain  the  muscles  and  your  wrist  loses  its  elas- 
ticity." 

I  nodded  my  thanks  for  his  friendly  warning,  and 
relaxed  my  grasp  a  little.  It  had  been  the  result  of 
feeling  and  not  of  calculation.  Then  we  began  to  fence, 
Varian  thrusting  straight  at  my  heart,  as  if  he  would 
touch  me  there  with  the  button  and  show  what  he 
really  could  do  were  the  game  in  earnest.  I  parried, 
and  his  foil  slipped  off  mine.  The  slight,  ringing  sound 
of  steel  was  in  the  air.  I  had  not  taken  my  eyes  from 
his  and  I  saw  them  flash  again  through  the  bars  of  his 
visor,  but  with  a  look  of  surprise.  And  that  look  gave 
me  joy.  This  may  seem  a  little  thing,  but  I  had  chafed 
at  his  air  and  manner  as  he  intended  that  I  should,  and 
I  summoned  to  my  use  whatever  skill  and  strength  I 
might  possess,  resolving  that  I  would  defeat  him  were 
it  possible. 

He  thrust  again,  and  a  second  time  I  parried,  his  foil 
slipping  off  mine.  This  left  him  unguarded,  and  I 
thrust  quickly  in  return.  Only  an  agile  step  to  one  side 
saved  him,  and  the  look  of  malice  from  the  bars  of  the 


AN  EVENING  WITH  VARIAN  53 

visor  flashed  upon  me  again.  I  felt  a  sudden  great  ex- 
hilaration, unwarranted,  perhaps,  by  the  circumstances, 
and  yet  not  to  be  checked.  We  paused  a  few  minutes, 
and  Varian  said  politely: 

"  You  fence  well,  Mr.  Kingsford.  I  expected  to  find 
a  pupil,  but  instead  I  meet  a  master." 

I  bowed  as  I  was  bound  to  acknowledge  such  a 
graceful  compliment,  and  De  Courcelles  said: 

"  I  am  proud  of  my  principal.  I  am  really  happy 
to  be  his  second." 

And  De  Courcelles  looked  as  if  he  meant  his  words. 

The  interest  of  the  others  in  our  little  mimic  battle 
increased,  and  they  hung  upon  it  as  if  it  were  for  life. 
We  began  again,  and  Varian  became  more  careful, 
leaving  no  opening,  and  attempting  to  drive  me  back 
toward  the  wall.  While  cautious,  he  also  pushed  the 
combat,  evidently  wishing  to  end  it  with  a  quick  vic- 
tory. His  attack  was  so  strong  that  I  retreated  a  yard 
or  two,  but  I  remembered  two  or  three  of  the  old  tricks 
of  my  father's.  I  lowered  my  sword  for  a  moment,  and 
when  he  thrust  quick  as  a  flash  for  the  opening,  I  knew 
that  my  chance  had  come.  His  foil,  caught  on  mine, 
was  drawn  from  his  hand  to  fall  ringing  upon  the  floor, 
and  my  button  touched  him  fairly  over  the  heart. 

"Well  done!  well  done!  Monsieur  Kingsford,  by  my 
faith,  'twas  well  done!  "  cried  De  Courcelles,  clapping 
his  hands  in  delight.  "Had  the  duel  been  real,  you 
would  now  be  a  dead  man,  Monsieur  Varian!  " 

"  Happily  for  me  it  was  not  real,"  said  Varian, 
taking  off  his  mask,  and  offering  me  his  hand.  "  You 
have  now  the  victory,  Mr.  Kingsford,  and  I  do  not  say 
it  merely  as  an  attempt  to  praise  my  own  skill  when  I 
call  you  a  good  swordsman." 

His  words  and  tone  were  graceful  enough,  and  yet 
I  detected  some  annoyance  in  his  manner,  as  unreason- 
able, perhaps,  as  my  own  secret  joy,  and  when  we  turned 
to  other  subjects  he  seemed  to  have  lost  part  of  his  zest. 


CHAPTEK  VII 

THE    SHEEN    OF   THE    SPEARS 

The  conversation  lagged  after  my  little  triumph, 
and  I  rose  presently  to  go  home.  Pembroke,  Tourville, 
and  Mason  said  that  they  would  go  too,  and  Varian  sug- 
gested that  he  and  his  friends  accompany  us,  at  least 
part  of  the  way. 

So  we  threw  on  our  cloaks  and  walked  into  the 
street.  Finding  the  night  pleasant,  the  chill  of  early 
spring  being  tempered  by  a  gentle  southern  wind,  and 
many  stars  shining,  we  strolled  on  together. 

"  I  have  such  a  sense  of  vastness  here,  gentlemen," 
said  De  Courcelles,  looking  up  at  the  skies,  "  but, 
I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  that  your  country  is  so 
large  or  merely  a  trick  that  the  imagination  plays  me 
because  I  learned  in  school  of  its  great  size." 

"  It  is  the  imagination  only,"  said  Varian.  "  The 
country  is  about  to  be  divided,  and  yet  your  sense  of 
vastness  is  not  diminished.  Ah,  see  that  signal  light! 
and  there  goes  another!  and  a  third!  " 

Our  eyes  followed  his  pointing  forefinger,  and  we 
saw  far  beyond  the  Potomac  a  red  light  shoot  up,  hang 
blazing  for  a  moment  against  the  sky  of  dusky  blue, 
and  then  bursting  into  a  spray  of  fire,  sink  and  die  away. 
It  was  followed  by  another,  and  then  another,  and  then 
more  until  we  counted  six  in  all. 

"  Some  of  our  Southern  friends  holding  a  little  quiet 
conversation  with  each  other,"  said  Varian.  "  It  may 
54 


THE  SHEEN  OP  THE  SPEARS        55 

mean  something  important,  or  it  may  be  merely  young 
militiamen  seizing  a  chance  to  burn  fireworks.  But  you 
see,  Mr.  Kingsford,  what  a  fatal  mistake  you  are  mak- 
ing. The  Southern  armies  are  already  gathering  almost 
within  sight  of  the  capital,  and  your  Northern  Gov- 
ernment is  supine.  Come  with  us!  Come  with  the 
men  whose  courage  and  energy  are  a  proof  of  what  they 
will  do.  You  are  a  Southerner  yourself,  and  you  should 
cling  to  your  own  people.  The  agreeable  and  the  right 
go  together  in  this  case." 

I  shook  my  head.  It  might  be  pleasanter  to  go 
with  one's  own  people,  but  I  had  settled  that  question 
long  since.  We  were  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others, 
and  he  turned  to  me  suddenly. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought,"  he  asked,  "  how  your 
choice  would  affect  you  with  Miss  Maynard?  " 

I  fancy  that  I  looked  my  surprise  at  his  use  of 
Elinor's  name  in  such  a  conversation,  but  I  suppressed 
it  in  a  moment,  though  secretly  wondering  at  his  mo- 
tive in  asking  the  question,  and  replied: 

"  Miss  Maynard  believes  as  I  do,  despite  her  sur- 
roundings.   We  are  in  agreement  upon  that  point." 

"  Ah,  yes,  she  thinks  so  for  the  present,  but  you  do 
not  know  how  easy  it  is  to  change  a  woman's  political 
opinions,  and  how  much  pressure  can  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  her.  I  do  not  mean  it  as  a  criticism,  but 
rather  as  a  compliment  when  I  say  that  Miss  Maynard 
is  likely  to  be,  a  year  from  now,  an  enthusiastic  ad- 
herent of  the  South.  Believe  me,  Mr.  Kingsford,  you 
would  be  much  wiser  to  seek  your  fortune  with  us." 

His  manner  was  most  ingratiating,  and  I  do  not 
know  what  reply  I  should  have  made,  but  at  that  mo- 
ment Tourville  interrupted.  He  had  overtaken  us  and 
caught  the  latter  part  of  Varian's  speech.  His  com- 
ment surprised  me  even  more  than  Varian's  invi- 
tation. 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong,  Mr.  Varian,"  he  said  posi- 


56  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

tively.  "  If  Henry  believes  that  the  South  is  wrong  and 
the  North  is  right,  he  ought  to  go  with  the  North. 
Now,  I  know  that  the  South  is  right,  hut  you  can't 
convince  Henry;  I've  tried  it  and  failed." 

I  was  glad  enough  that  Tourville  had  spoken,  al- 
though he  and  I  had  had  some  fiery  altercations  on  this 
very  subject.  It  was  always  hard  to  tell  which  way  his 
impulsive  nature  would  swing  him,  but  now  it  brought 
him  to  my  side. 

"  I  shall  not  argue  with  you,  Mr.  Tourville,"  said 
Varian,  with  entire  good  nature.  "  Two  are  too  strong 
for  me,  but  I  shall  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  railway 
station.  Many  Southerners  start  to-night  on  a  pil- 
grimage, and  the  spectacle  should  be  interesting." 

Then  he  told  us  that  more  than  one  hundred  people 
were  leaving  on  a  special  train  for  their  homes  in  the 
South.  I  knew  that  many  of  them  expected  to  return, 
but  not  to  the  capital  of  a  united  nation.  His  proposal 
was  acceptable  to  all, 'our  curiosity  rising  at  once,  and 
we  changed  our  course, 

I  would  have  walked  with  De  Courcelles,  whom  I 
wished  to  know  better,  but  Varian  held  me  with  his  con- 
versation, seeming  resolved  that  I  should  receive  his 
whole  attention  that  evening.  However,  my  mind  wan- 
dered from  the  subject  as  we  talked.  I  felt  that  our 
little  company  was  of  a  various  character,  of  more  than 
one  nation,  divided  in  regard  to  the  coming  struggle, 
and  yet  we  were  able  to  walk  peacefully  together.  I 
wished  that  our  example  might  serve. 

We  soon  reached  the  station.  It  was  a  gloomy 
enough  place,  like  all  American  railroad  stations  of  the 
time,  without  the  slightest  ornamentation,  with  only  the 
barest  comforts,  and  not  all  of  them;  dusty  brown 
Avails,  hard  wooden  benches,  and  an  old  stove  emitting 
more  smoke  than  heat,  feebly  attempting  to  warm  the 
desolate  room. 

But  the  place  was  full  of  bustle  and  noise,  and  the 


THE  SHEEN  OF  THE  SPEARS        57 

dim  lights  showed  many  human  faces.  Men  and  women 
alike  were  going  home,  but,  as  I  had  thought,  most  of 
them  were  expecting  to  return.  They  talked  much,  and 
they  were  cheerful.  It  seemed  never  to  occur  to  any 
one  in  that  sanguine  crowd  that  the  result  might  he 
otherwise  than  they  wished.  Our  own  party  was  silent. 
Perhaps  our  discussions  made  us  think  more  of  the  dif- 
ficulties and  dangers. 

"  You  see  how  futile  your  Government  is,"  said 
Varian.  "  Many  of  these  men  are  going  away  to  fight 
you,  and  you  know  it;  but  you  do  nothing.  What 
can  you  do?  How  can  you  hold  a  people  who  do  not 
wish  to  be  held?  " 

Another  crowd  began  to  gather  about  the  station,  a 
hostile  and  threatening  crowd  containing  many  roughs, 
men  who  might  use  violence.  The  emigrants,  or  exiles, 
as  they  called  themselves,  often  talked  rashly  or  with 
excessive  heat,  but  both  sides  had  abstained  so  far 
from  physical  force.  Yet  it  looked  as  if  the  rule  might 
be  broken  now. 

A  short,  thick  figure  came  out  of  the  darkness,  and 
the  light  fell  upon  the  large  head  and  powerful  shoul- 
ders of  Shaftoe. 

"  It's  curiosity  that  brought  me  here,"  he  said. 
"  The  same  curiosity,  I  guess,  that  brought  you." 

Some  of  us  he  knew,  and  I  introduced  him  to  the 
others. 

"A  fine  specimen  of  your  peasant  class,  I  take  it," 
said  De  Courcelles  aside. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  belongs  to  our  nobility,  al- 
though he  has  no  title,"  I  replied.  I  could  never  con- 
ceive of  such  a  man  as  Shaftoe  as  a  peasant,  and,  more- 
over, I  disliked  the  word. 

The  mutterings  of  the  crowd  increased,  and  the  de- 
parting Southerners,  while  taking  no  notice  otherwise, 
used  in  their  talk  to  each  other  allusions  and  jests 
that  could  not  fail  to  irritate.     It  was  unwise,  but  it  was 


58  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

natural.  I  saw  presently  the  senator  from  Texas,  the 
man  whose  ironical  face,  as  he  leaned  against  the  pillar 
at  the  inauguration,  had  impressed  me  so.  He  showed 
the  same  character  now,  regarding  the  crowd  with  in- 
dolent indifference,  save  now  and  then  when  he  per- 
mitted himself  a  sarcastic  smile.  One  of  the  roughs 
jeered  at  him,  but  he  merely  looked  at  the  man  con- 
temptuously. The  crowd  pressed  closer,  and  some  came 
into  the  station.  A  policeman  tried  to  keep  them  back, 
but  he  was  outnumbered  and  shoved  aside.  "  Traitors!  " 
they  shouted  at  the  emigrants.  The  senator  sneered, 
and  moved  his  hand  as  if  he  were  sweeping  dirt  away. 
One  of  the  roughs  laid  hold  of  his  collar,  but  the  sena- 
tor seized  him  instantly,  and  threw  him  against  the  wall. 
A  rush  was  made  for  the  offending  Southerner,  but 
Shaftoe  sprang  forward  and  hurled  back  the  first  man 
against  the  second. 

"  Stop!  "  he  shouted.  "  These  people  must  go  away 
peacefully!  I  am  a  Northern  man  myself,  as  true  as 
any  of  you,  I  hope,  and  you  shall  not  disgrace  us!  " 

"  Your  friend  is  bold  and  ready,"  said  Varian  to  me, 
"  and,  moreover,  he  is  right.    I  shall  help  him." 

All  of  us  stepped  forward  to  the  assistance  of  Shaf- 
toe; and  the  crowd  paused.  The  roughs  looked  us 
over,  and,  convinced  by  our  numbers  and  strength,  de- 
parted with  their  bruised  comrade. 

Then  the  emigration  continued.  The  attack  of  the 
mob  became  a  forgotten  episode.  The  crowd  resumed 
its  light-heartedness  and  gaiety.  Some  one  looking  out 
at  the  capital  with  its  lights  twinkling  in  the  dusk, 
quoted  the  words  of  the  Numidian  leaving  old  Eome, 
"  0  venal  city,  about  to  perish!  "  but  I  remembered 
that  it  was  the  Numidian  who  came  back  to  die  in  a 
dungeon  at  Rome,  and  Rome  went  on.  I  could  not  see 
that  any  of  these  people  were  troubled;  they  seemed 
to  anticipate  nothing  but  good  fortune,  and  it  struck  me 
that  the  gravest  moments  of  our  lives  are  perhaps  those 


THE  SHEEN  OF  THE  SPEARS        59 

that  create  the  smallest  apprehensions.  It  was  obvious, 
however,  that  they  felt  they  were  in  the  right.  They 
were  firm  in  the  belief  that  the  North  was  wholly  given 
up  to  a  sordid  commercialism,  and  that  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  life  remained  in  the  South  alone. 

They  were  all  aboard,  the  engine  whistled,  and  away 
they  went  into  the  darkness,  the  lights  of  the  train 
quickly  dying. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  are  silent  and  sad,"  said 
Varian  to  me,  as  we  walked  back  toward  the  central 
part  of  the  city.  "  When  a  scene  like  this  impresses 
so  much  a  stranger,  one  whose  interest  is  not  personal, 
as  it  does  me,  I  can  understand  the  effect  that  it  must 
have  upon  you,  who  have  ties  alike  with  those  who  re- 
main and  those  who  stay." 

I  wondered  if  his  sympathy  were  genuine,  but  I 
thanked  him  for  it. 

Elinor  and  Mrs.  Maynard  left  for  their  home  two 
days  later  under  the  escort  of  Varian,  who,  I  was  told, 
was  to  have  a  Confederate  command  in  the  Southwest. 
When  I  said  good-bye  to  Elinor  I  could  not  refrain 
from  warning  her. 

"  Elinor,"  I  said,  "  I  do  not  trust  Mr.  Varian." 

"  Perhaps  he  does  not  trust  you,  and  so  you  are 
even,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  with  a  quick  smile. 

"  I  do  not  seek  to  jest,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  could  wish 
on  your  account  that  Mrs.  Maynard  had  sought  the 
advice  and  protection  of  any  other." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  able  to  take  care  of  myself,"  she 
said,  her  cheeks  reddening  and  a  flash  appearing  in  her 
eyes.  I  saw  that  I  had  made  a  mistake,  and  I  talked 
of  other  things.  I  remember  her  now  as  she  was  on 
that  last  day,  tall  and  slender  and  beautiful,  and  not 
like  those  who  had  gone  away  in  the  night,  laughing 
and  full  of  eager  anticipations,  but  grave  and  sad  and 
seeming  to  look  ahead  to  events  which  could  furnish  no 
triumph. 

5 


60  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Mrs.  Maynard  gave  me  a  cold  farewell.  Varian  was 
courteous,  even  showing  warmth  in  his  manner. 

"  We  may  meet  soon,  Mr.  Kingsf  ord,"  he  said,  "  and 
if  we  do,  it  is  most  likely  that  it  will  be  on  the  battle- 
field; then  I  trust  that  the  stronger  will  be  able  to  show 
mercy." 

I  noticed  that  the  man  Blanchard,  his  face  as  heavy 
and  lowering  as  ever,  was  with  him,  and  I  liked  his 
presence  but  little. 

Then  all  my  friends  departed-^-Major  Tyler,  Pem- 
broke, Mason,  Tourville,  and  eve*De  Courcelles,  who 
went  to  New  York  on  business  for  the  French  Govern- 
ment, so  he  said.  The  city  was  lonely  when  they  were 
gone. 

The  war  clouds  thickened  fast,  and  shots  were  heard. 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

THE    CALL    OF   THE    DRUM 

Then  I  listened  to  the  call  of  the  drum. 

Fort  Sumter  was  fired  upon,  and  the  first  cannon 
shot  there  set  this  war  drum  to  beating  in  every  vil- 
lage; it  was  never  silent;  its  steady  roll  day  after  day 
was  calling  men  up  to  the  cannon  mouth;  it  was  per- 
sistent, unsatisfied,  always  crying  for  more. 

Its  beat  was  heard  throughout  a  vast  area,  over  re- 
gions whose  people  knew  of  each  other  as  part  of  the 
same  nation,  but  had  never  met,  calling  above  this  line 
to  the  North,  calling  below  it  to  the  South,  summoning 
up  the  legions  for  a  struggle  in  which  old  jealousies  and 
old  quarrels,  breeding  since  the  birth  of  the  Union,  were 
to  be  settled. 

The  drum  beat  its  martial  note  in  the  great  cities  of 
the  Atlantic,  calling  the  men  away  from  the  forges  and 
the  shops  and  the  wharves — clerks,  moulders,  longshore- 
men, the  same  call  for  all;  it  passed  on,  and  its  steady 
beat  resounded  among  the  hills  and  mountains  of  the 
North,  calling  to  the  long-limbed  farmer  boys  to  drop 
the  plough  and  take  up  the  rifle,  sending  them  on  to 
join  the  moulders,  and  clerks,  and  longshoremen,  and 
putting  upon  all  one  stamp,  the  stamp  of  the  soldier, 
food  for  the  cannon — and  this  food  supply  was  to  be 
the  largest  of  its  time,  though  few  yet  dreamed  it. 

The  roll  of  the  drum  went  on,  through  the  fields, 
along  the  rivers,  by  the  shores  of  the  Great  Lakes,  out 

61 


62  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

upon  the  plains,  where  the  American  yet  fought  with 
the  Indian  for  a  foothold,  and  into  the  interminable 
forests  whose  shades  hid  the  pioneers;  over  levels  and 
acres  and  curves  of  thousands  of  miles,  calling  up  the 
deep-chested  Western  farmers,  men  of  iron  muscles  and 
no  pleasures,  to  whom  unbroken  hardship  was  the 
natural  course  of  life,  and  sending  them  to  join  their 
Eastern  brethren  at  the  cannon  mouth. 

It  was  an  insistent  drum,  beating  through  all  the 
day  and  night,  over  the  mountains,  through  the  sunless 
woods  and  on  the  burnt  prairies,  never  resting,  never 
weary.  The  opportunity  was  the  greatest  of  the  time, 
and  the  drum  did  not  neglect  a  moment;  it  was  without 
conscience,  and  had  no  use  for  mercy,  calling,  always 
calling. 

Another  drum  and  yet  the  same  was  beating  in  the 
South,  and  those  who  came  at  its  call  differed  in  little 
from  the  others  who  were  marching  to  the  Northern 
beat,  only  the  clerks  and  the  mill  hands  were  much 
fewer;  the  same  long-limbed  and  deep-chested  race, 
spare  alike  of  figure  and  speech,  brown-faced  men  from 
the  shores  of  the  Gulf,  men  of  South  Carolina  in  whom 
the  original  drop  of  French  blood  still  tinctured  the 
whole;  brethren  of  theirs  from  Louisiana,  gigantic  Ten- 
nesseans,  half -wild  horsemen  from  the  Texas  plains — all 
burning  with  enthusiasm  for  a  cause  that  they  believed 
to  be  right. 

This  merciless  drum  rolling  out  its  ironical  chuckle 
noted  that  these  Northern  and  Southern  countrymen 
gathering  to  their  standards  were  alike  in  their  lack  of 
pleasure;  they  were  a  serious  race;  life  had  always  been 
a  hard  problem  for  them,  a  fight,  in  fact,  and  this  fight 
into  which  they  were  going  was  merely  another  kind 
of  battle,  with  some  advantages  of  novelty  and  change 
and  comradeship  that  made  it  attractive,  especially  to 
the  younger,  the  boys.  They  had  been  hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  though 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  DRUM  63 

for  themselves;  generations  of  them  had  fought  In- 
dians, some  suffering  torture  and  death;  they  had  en- 
dured bitter  cold  and  burning  heat,  eaten  at  scanty 
tables,  and  lived  far-away  and  lonely  lives  in  the  wilder- 
ness. They  were  a  rough  and  hard-handed  race,  taught 
to  work  and  not  to  be  afraid,  knowing  no  masters,  accus- 
tomed to  no  splendours  either  in  themselves  or  others, 
holding  themselves  as  good  as  anybody  and  thinking  it, 
according  to  Nature;  their  faults  those  of  newness  and 
never  of  decay.  These  were  the  men  who  had  grown  up 
apart  from  the  Old  World  and  all  its  traditions,  far 
even  from  the  influence  which  the  Atlantic  seaboard  felt 
through  constant  communication.  This  life  of  eternal 
combat  in  one  form  or  another  left  no  opportunity  for 
softness;  the  dances,  the  sports,  and  all  the  gaieties 
which  even  the  lowest  in  Europe  had  were  unknown  to 
them,  and  they  invented  none  to  take  their  place. 

They  knew  the  full  freedom  of  speech;  what  they 
wished  to  say  they  said,  and  they  said  it  when  and  where 
they  pleased.  But  on  the  whole  they  were  taciturn, 
especially  in  the  hour  of  trouble;  then  they  made  no 
complaints,  suffering  in  silence.  They  imbibed  the  stoi- 
cism of  the  Indians  from  whom  they  won  the  land,  and 
they  learned  to  endure  much  and  long  before  they  cried 
out.  This  left  one  characteristic  patent  and  decisive, 
and  that  characteristic  was  strength.  These  men  had 
passed  through  a  school  of  hardship,  one  of  many 
grades;  it  had  roughened  them,  but  it  gave  them  bodies 
of  iron  and  an  unconquerable  spirit  for  the  struggle  they 
were  about  to  begin. 

Another  characteristic  of  those  who  came  at  the  call 
of  the  drum  was  unselfishness.  They  were  willing  to  do 
much  and  ask  little  for  it.  They  were  poor  bargain 
drivers  when  selling  their  own  flesh  and  bones,  and  their 
answer  to  the  call  was  spontaneous  and  without  price. 

They  came  in  thousands  and  scores  of  thousands. 
The  long  roll  rumbling  from  the  sea  to  the  Eocky  Moun- 


64  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

tains  and  beyond  cleared  everything;  the  doubts  and 
the  doubters  were  gone;  no  more  committees;  an  end  to 
compromises!  The  sword  must  decide,  and  the  two 
halves  of  the  nation,  which  yet  did  not  understand  their 
own  strength,  swung  forward  to  meet  the  issue,  glad 
that  it  was  obvious  at  last. 

There  came  an  exultant  note  into  the  call  of  the 
drum,  as  if  it  rejoiced  at  the  prospects  of  a  contest  that 
took  so  wide  a  sweep.  Here  was  long  and  happy  work 
for  it  to  do;  it  could  call  to  many  battles,  and  its  note 
as  it  passed  from  village  to  village  was  resounding  and 
defiant;  it  was  cheerful  too,  and  had  in  it  a  trick;  it  told 
the  long-legged  boys  who  came  out  of  the  woods  of  vic- 
tories and  glory,  of  an  end  for  a  while  to  the  toil  which 
never  before  had  been  broken,  of  new  lands  and  of 
cities;  all  making  a  great  holiday  with  the  final  finish 
of  excitement  and  reasonable  risk.  It  was  no  wonder 
that  the  drum  called  so  effectively  when  it  mingled  such 
enticements  with  the  demands  of  patriotism.  Most  of 
those  who  heard  were  no  strangers  to  danger,  and  those 
who  did  not  know  it  themselves  were  familiar  with  it 
in  the  traditions  of  their  fathers  and  forefathers;  every 
inch  of  the  land  which  now  swept  back  from  the  sea 
three  thousand  miles  had  been  won  at  the  cost  of  suf- 
fering and  death,  with  two  weapons,  the  rifle  and  the 
axe,  and  they  were  not  going  to  shun  the  present  trial, 
which  was  merely  one  in  a  long  series. 

The  drum  was  calling  to  men  who  understood  its 
note;  the  nation  had  been  founded  as  a  peaceful  repub- 
lic, but  it  had  gone  already  through  the  ordeal  of  many 
wars,  and  behind  it  stretched  five  generations  of  colonial 
life,  an  unbroken  chain  of  combats.  They  had  fought 
everybody;  they  had  measured  the  valour  of  the  Eng- 
lishman, the  Frenchman,  the  Spaniard,  the  Hessian,  the 
Mexican,  and  the  red  man.  Much  gunpowder  had  been 
burned  within  the  borders  of  the  Union,  and  also  its 
people  had  burned  much  beyond  them.     Those  who  fol- 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  DRUM  65 

lowed  the  call  of  the  drum  were  flocking  to  no  new 
trade.  By  a  country  with  the  shadow  of  a  standing 
army  very  many  battles  had  been  fought. 

They  came,  too,  without  regard  to  blood  or  origin; 
the  Anglo-Saxon  predominated;  he  gave  his  character- 
istics to  North  and  South  alike,  all  spoke  his  tongue, 
but  every  race  in  Europe  had  descendants  there,  and 
many  of  them — English,  Irish,  Scotch,  French,  Germanj 
Spanish,  and  so  on  through  the  list — their  blood  fused 
and  intermingled,  until  no  one  could  tell  how  much  he 
had  of  this  and  how  much  of  that. 

The  untiring  drumbeat  was  heard  through  all  the 
winter  and  summer,  and  the  response  still  rolled  up 
from  vast  areas;  it  was  to  be  no  common  struggle — 
great  armies  were  to  be  formed  where  no  armies  at  all 
existed  before,  and  the  preparations  on  a  fitting  scale 
went  on.  The  forces  of  the  North  and  South  gathered 
along  a  two-thousand-mile  line,  and  those  trying  to  look 
far  ahead  saw  the  nature  of  the  struggle. 

The  preliminary  battles  and  skirmishes  began,  and 
then  the  two  gathered  themselves  for  their  mightiest 
efforts. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   PENETKATION   OF    SHAFTOE 

Shaftoe  and  I  were  two  among  the  thousands  who 
oheyed  the  call  of  the  drum,  and  we  went  together  to 
Kentucky,  I  finding  again  on  the  journey  that  I  had 
chosen  wisely  when  I  resolved  to  make  him  my  com- 
rade. I  was  grateful,  too,  that  he  saw  fit  to  help  me 
out  of  the  store  of  his  experience  and  wisdom,  falling  in 
with  my  plan,  for  I  felt  that  I  was  the  one  who  received 
benefits  and  gave  but  little  in  return.  He  began  now 
to  instruct  me  in  the  arts  of  the  campaigner. 

"  You  are  to  be  a  soldier  soon,"  he  said,  "  and  so 
you  will  have  to  begin  life  over  again.  You  really  know 
nothing  about  taking  care  of  yourself.  No  man  does 
until  he  has  served  at  least  two  years  as  a  private. 
Unless  I  watch  over  you  you  are  sure  to  have  shoes 
either  too  tight  or  too  loose,  and  inside  of  a  week 
you  will  be  so  lame  you  can't  walk.  You  will  go  to  sleep 
on  the  damp  ground  just  because  you  are  so  tired  that 
you  stop  thinking,  and  the  next  day  you  will  have  chills 
and  fever.  In  short,  you  will  be  dead  before  you  hear 
the  whistle  of  an  enemy's  bullet  if  you  don't  take  good 
advice,  which,  of  course,  is  mine." 

I  promised  him  that  I  would  obey  all  his  instruc- 
tions, and  his  pleasure  at  my  assurance  was  obvious. 
Where  his  military  knowledge  was  concerned  he  showed 
a  fine  strain  of  egotism,  but  it  proceeded  from  such  good 
cause  that  it  seemed  logical  and  natural.  Moreover,  he 
66 


THE  PENETRATION  OF  SHAFTOE      67 

took  no  credit  to  himself  for  anything  else,  and  I  like 
to  see  a  man  proud  of  the  work  that  he  can  do  best.  I 
found  that  he  was  not  an  easy  master  at  first.  His  dis- 
cipline was  severe,  and  if  I  failed  to  tell  what  I  ought 
to  do  in  any  military  emergency,  his  criticism  was  in- 
stant and  emphatic.  "  This  little  West  Point  of  mine 
must  be  carried  on  right,"  he  said.  "  I  haven't  had  a 
chance  to  lecture  anybody  for  a  long  time  before,  and 
don't  you  think  that  I'm  going  to  let  it  pass." 

Yet  I  knew  that  he  liked  me,  as  otherwise  he  would 
not  have  taken  so  much  trouble  to  make  me  a  good 
soldier. 

We  went  by  rail  to  Cincinnati,  where  I  received  a 
letter  from  Elinor.  I  had  asked  her  to  write  to  me 
there,  and  tell  me  of  her  safe  arrival.  Her  letter  was 
brief: 

"  We  reached  here  without  trouble  or  long  delay," 
she  said.  "  We  heard  of  nothing  on  our  way  but  war, 
and  the  talk  of  great  battles  soon  to  come.  Colonel 
Varian — he  is  a  colonel  now,  his  commission  came  from 
Mr.  Davis  himself,  and  he  is  esteemed  highly  in  the 
South — was  most  kind  and  assisted  us  in  many  ways. 
But  he  was  rather  silent  and  reserved,  and  we  have  seen 
little  of  him  since  our  arrival  here.  Henry,  I  trust  that 
you  will  come  to  no  harm  in  this  war,  and  that  the  war 
itself  will  soon  be  ended,  for  it  seems  a  cruel  thing." 

I  thought  over  the  letter  for  a  while,  not  being  able 
to  tell  from  it  Elinor's  feelings  toward  Varian.  Shaftoe 
was  close  by  when  I  received  it,  smoking,  and  presently 
I  saw  him  take  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  look 
fixedly  at  me.  Being  so  much  older  and  more  experi- 
enced than  I,  he  felt  that  he  could  take  liberties.  At 
length  he  said: 

"A  girl?" 

Silence. 

"  Not  a  girl,  but  the  girl." 

Silence. 


68  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Private  Thomas  Shaftoe,  TJ.  S.  A.,  relighted  his  pipe 
and  smoked  for  a  minute  or  two  with  great  deliberation, 
but  did  not  take  his  translating  eye  off  me. 

"  I  was  sure  it  was  the  girl  and  not  a  girl,"  he  said 
presently. 

Still  silence. 

"  A  mighty  soldier  such  as  you  are  to  become  would 
never  be  disturbed  so  much  by  anything  except  the  girl." 

I  stirred  a  little,  for  I  was  uneasy  under  his  gaze. 

"  That's  confirmation,"  said  Shaftoe.  "  Now,  I  want 
to  ask  you  one  thing.  Aren't  you  afraid  the  war  will 
lag  through  a  division  of  your  attention?  Perhaps  it 
may  cause  the  North  to  suffer  several  great  defeats." 

The  veteran  pulled  calmly  at  his  pipe  and  looked 
with  seeming  laziness  through  the  rising  smoke.  But 
his  keen  eyes  were  on  me,  and  I  believe  that  they  read 
every  thought  passing  in  my  mind.  It  had  become 
Shaftoe's  opinion  lately  that  I  was  taking  life  with  a 
seriousness  and  intensity  bordering  upon  strain,  and 
I  felt  that  he  wished  to  indulge  his  humour  a  little  at 
my  expense. 

"  You  wonder  why  I  know  about  the  girl — that  is, 
the  particular  girl  and  not  a  girl,"  he  resumed.  "  It's 
easy  enough  to  know;  I  didn't  have  to  hunt  up  the 
fact;  you  advertised  it  to  me  in  billboard  letters  a  yard 
high,  all  in  red  ink.  The  only  way  for  me  not  to  see  it 
was  to  shut  my  eyes  tight,  and  I  can't  keep  that  up 
twenty-four  hours  a  day." 

He  laughed  silently,  but  with  enjoyment. 

"Oughtn't  I  to  know  the  signs?"  he  resumed. 
"Haven't  I  been  through  it  all?  Yes,  sir,  every  stage 
of  the  disease  from  catch  to  cure!  There  she  stands 
now,  nineteen  years  old,  as  spry  as  a  deer  and  as  wild, 
black  eyes  and  black  hair,  cream  on  her  brow  and 
roses  on  her  cheeks  and  mischief  in  her  soul.  I  was 
sure  I'd  die  or  kill  somebody  if  I  didn't  marry  her. 
Neither  happened." 


THE  PENETRATION  OF  SHAFTOE      69 

"  Why  didn't  you  marry  her?  " 

"  Asked  her,  but  she  preferred  to  marry  some  one 
else.  That  was  long  ago.  I  got  over  it,  as  you  will 
get  over  your  attack,  my  son." 

Private  Thomas  Shaftoe,  U.  S.  A.,  laughed  again, 
and  blew  a  smoke  ring  high  above  his  head.  Then  he 
added: 

"  At  least  the  United  States  got  a  first-class  soldier 
by  it,  if  I  do  say  it  myself/' 

Then  he  seemed  to  sigh,  but  so  softly  that  I  could 
not  hear  him;  I  doubt  if  he  heard  himself. 

It  was  our  intention  to  continue  the  journey  by  rail 
from  Cincinnati  to  Louisville,  but  we  found  the  trains 
from  the  former  place  choked  with  volunteers  and 
material  of  war,  and  so  we  secured  passage  on  the  packet 
steamer  Island  Queen  down  the  Ohio,  arriving  at  Louis- 
ville the  next  day  in  safety. 

I  was  more  or  less  acquainted  in  Louisville,  and  I 
beheld  here  for  the  first  time  and  on  a  large  scale  the 
painful  division  of  families,  which  I  believe  that  all 
acknowledge  to  be  the  saddest  feature  of  a  civil  war. 
Shaftoe  left  me  on  the  second  day,  going  to  Indiana, 
where  he  was  to  assist  in  the  organization  and  drill  of  a 
new  regiment.  Some  Indiana  troops  were  already  in 
Louisville,  tall,  gawky  young  countrymen,  and  the  Ken- 
tuckians,  with  that  contempt  which  they  always  feel 
for  the  Indianians — a  contempt  which  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  respective  merits  of  the  two — hooted  them 
as  they  walked  through  the  streets  and  asked  them  what 
they  were.  I  shall  not  forget  the  reply.  "  We  are  free 
citizens  of  the  State  of  Indiana,"  answered  the  Hoosiers 
proudly,  remembering  that  the  Kentuckians  were  slave- 
holders and  they  were  not.  And  yet,  by  another  of  the 
contradictions  of  human  nature,  those  Indianians  came 
from  a  county  which  to  this  day  will  not  allow  a  negro 
to  remain  twenty-four  hours  on  its  soil. 

I  was  in  a  state  of  uncertainty.    I  wished  to  visit  my 


70  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

grandmother  before  entering  upon  active  service,  but  I 
could  not  yet  learn  whether  a  man  known  to  be  a  vol- 
unteer for  the  Northern  army  having  visited  that  part 
of  the  State  would  be  able  to  return  to  his  duty.  I 
took,  meanwhile,  a  room  at  the  Gait  House,  and  on  the 
second  day  when  I  went  to  breakfast  I  met  Varian.  He 
saw  me  first,  and  came  to  my  table,  offering  his  hand 
with  a  cheerful  good  morning. 

"  I  had  heard  that  you  were  here,  Mr.  Kingsford," 
he  said.  "  Our  careers,  or  rather  our  wishes,  seem  to 
take  us  along  the  same  path." 

I  was  forced  to  return  his  greeting  in  kind,  although 
surprised  and  not  wholly  pleased  to  see  him  there. 
Elinor  had  written  that  he  was  already  a  colonel  in  the 
Confederate  service,  and  surely  he  must  know  his  risk 
in  coming  to  Louisville. 

He  invited  me  to  join  Mr.  Blanchard  and  himself 
at  his  table,  and  I  found  Mr.  Blanchard  there,  silent  and 
lowering  as  ever.  Varian,  talking  freely,  gave  me  much 
news,  and  despite  the  gaiety  of  his  manner,  I  noticed  a 
thread  of  irony  which  seemed  to  me  at  times  to  become 
marvellously  like  bitterness. 

The  southern  part  of  the  State,  he  said,  was  swarm- 
ing with  the  Confederate  forces.  Mrs.  Maynard  and  her 
niece  were  at  their  house,  and  my  respected  grand- 
mother, so  he  said,  was  quietly  at  hers,  very  anxious 
about  me  and  hoping  to  see  me  soon.  Miss  Maynard  was 
still  of  divided  feelings,  loving  the  South  and  yet  sure 
that  the  North  was  right  and  would  win.  He  had 
sought  in  vain  to  convert  her  to  sounder  political  and 
military  beliefs,  but  women  were  guided  in  these  mat- 
ters as  in  all  others  by  their  emotions,  or  by  that  in- 
stinct which  usually  leads  them  wrong,  rather  than  by 
their  reason.  I  was  not  sure  that  a  woman's  instinct 
usually  led  her  wrong,  and  I  said  so. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  replied  lightly,  "  a  man  can  not 
depend  upon  them.    Just  when  he  thinks  he  has  con- 


THE  PENETRATION  OF  SHAPTOE      fl 

vinced  them,  he  is  sure  to  find  that  they  think  the  very 
opposite.  Perhaps  it  is  the  fine  contrariety  of  the  sex 
that  makes  them  so  beautiful  to  us." 

I  watched  his  face  with  new  interest,  but  it  expressed 
no  emotion,  and  he  began  to  talk  of  other  subjects.  I 
asked  him  why  he  had  come  to  Louisville,  and  was  he 
not  afraid  of  detention. 

"  It  is  necessary  in  this  life  to  have  strong  friends," 
he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  and  perhaps  I 
have  them.  At  all  events,  I  feel  no  apprehensions. 
The  war  has  not  really  begun,  although  all  of  us  know 
that  it  will  begin."  Then  he  discussed  the  military 
situation,  talking  to  me  quite  frankly,  telling  me  that 
Kentucky  was  a  pivotal  State,  and  whichever  side  could 
hold  it  would  drive  a  wedge  into  the  heart  of  the 
other.  Possession,  he  said,  would  be  the  prize  of 
swiftness  and  decision,  and  so  far  the  South  had  shown 
herself  superior  in  those  qualities.  He  described  the 
campaign  as  he  would  conduct  it  for  the  South  if  he 
were  in  chief  command,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  his 
was  a  true  military  genius,  since  his  tone  had  the  ring 
of  knowledge  and  confidence,  and  one  was  convinced  in 
spite  of  himself. 

"  I  could  wish,  Mr.  Varian,"  I  said,  "  that  you  would 
choose  our  side." 

"  Not  so  much  as  I  wish  you  to  take  ours,"  he  re- 
plied. 

I  thanked  him  for  the  compliment,  and  presently 
tried  to  engage  his  companion,  the  sullen  Mr.  Blanch- 
ard,  in  conversation.  But  if  Mr.  Blanchard  had  any 
ideas  worth  the  telling,  he  was  pleased  to  consider  them 
better  worth  the  keeping,  as  he  made  but  brief  replies 
to  all  my  questions  and  suggestions,  and  Varian  resum- 
ing the  thread  of  the  conversation,  he  was  left  to  his 
original  silence. 

Varian  asked  me  if  I  intended  a  visit  to  my  home, 
and  I  said  that  I  would  surely  go  if  I  found  the  way  to 


72  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

be  open.  He  made  no  comment,  but  left  the  room  a 
few  moments  later  with  Blanchard. 

I  inquired  the  next  morning  for  him,  but  I  found 
that  he  and  his  familiar  were  gone,  and  I  learned 
from  others  that  his  flight  was  hastened  by  the  danger 
of  arrest.  The  rumour  was  spreading  that  a  man,  al- 
ready a  colonel  in  the  Southern  service,  was  in  the 
city,  possibly  as  a  spy,  and  while  one  might  tolerate 
much  before  active  hostilities,  this  was  going  too  far. 

I  decided  the  next  day  that  I  would  visit  my  home, 
taking  the  chances  of  detention  and  capture,  and  an 
hour  after  forming  this  resolution  I  started. 


CHAPTEE  X 

A  SOUTHEEN   HOME 

"  I  knew  that  you  ought  not  to  come,  but  I  knew 
that  you  would  come,  and  right  glad  am  I  to  see  you," 
said  my  grandmother. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  a  woman  of  sixty-five, 
just  a  little  above  the  medium  height,  her  iron-gray 
hair — it  was  not  white  until  years  afterward — arranged 
in  little  corkscrew  curls  on  her  temples,  her  gray  eyes 
still  clear,  and  the  full  brow  above  them  almost  as 
smooth  as  the  forehead  of  a  young  woman.  She  was  as 
straight  as  an  Indian  chief,  and  I  can  remember  that 
when  I  first  came  to  live  with  her  she  was,  to  my  child- 
ish mind,  the  personification  of  strength  and  self-reli- 
ance. People  told  me  that  she  was  a  far  sterner  char- 
acter than  my  mother,  who  died  when  I  was  at  the  age 
of  seven,  but  when  she  sent  for  me,  we  two  being  all 
that  were  left  of  the  family,  they  said  also,  as  I  learned 
afterward,  that  I  had  fallen  into-  safe  hands. 

My  grandmother  when  the  lone  little  boy  arrived 
kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  then  looking  into  my  eyes 
fixedly  for  a  moment,  said: 

"  Ah,  yes;  it  is  the  same  look." 

Then  she  went  abruptly  into  the  next  room,  leaving 
me  wondering  and  frightened.  But  she  returned  in  a 
few  moments,  brisk,  sharp,  and  snappy. 

"William  Penn! "  she  cried,  "why  do  you  leave 
the  child  to  starve  ?  " 

73 


74  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

And  William  Penn  Johnson,  the  man  of  all  work, 
my  grandmother's  right  hand,  came  in  to  rescue  me 
from  the  pangs  of  starvation,  although  it  was  she  who 
had  been  guilty,  if  there  was  any  guilt  at  all. 

"  Don't  give  up  to  her  too  easy,"  said  William  Penn, 
when  he  had  taken  me  to  the  kitchen,  where  a  kindly 
maid  supplied  me  plentifully  with  bread  and  butter. 
"  She's  a  terrible  woman  with  those  who  are  afraid  of 
her.  She  thinks  they  have  no  spirit,  and  she  hates 
people  who  have  no  spirit.  You  needn't  cross  her,  but 
just  you  be  foxy;  let  her  talk  and  think  she's  getting 
her  way,  while  you  have  yours,  and  then  you'll  lead  a 
quiet  life,  which  is  the  only  kind  that's  worth  living." 

This  was  blunt  advice  to  give  to  a  young  man  of 
seven  years,  but  even  then  I  was  wise  enough  to  receive 
it  with  a  grain  of  allowance,  and  to  profit  by  the  good 
that  it  really  contained.  Thus  I  prospered  under  a 
stern  and  kindly  rule,  sharing  in  youthful  spirit  in  the 
feud  that  my  grandmother  conducted  with  her  neigh- 
bour, Mrs.  Maynard,  a  quarrel  which  had  become  neces- 
sary to  her  personal  satisfaction;  and  all  went  well 
until  Mrs.  Maynard's  orphan  niece  arrived  from  the 
North. 

"  A  New  England  child,  a  Yankee!  "  said  my  grand- 
mother in  horror.  "  Perhaps  her  parents  were  abolition- 
ists. Yet  I  might  have  expected  that  Ellen  Maynard 
would  bring  her  here.  It  is  like  the  woman  to  defy  the 
best  opinion  of  the  community.  Henry,  you  must  never 
go  near  that  house  again." 

She  laid  this  injunction  upon  me  with  the  greatest 
earnestness  and  weight,  but  my  curiosity  was  aroused 
so  deeply  that  I  was  ready  to  risk  the  sin  of  disobedience. 
I  had  never  seen  a  Yankee,  though  I  had  heard  strange 
tales  of  them,  and  so  I  slipped  away  from  our  house, 
and  a  half  hour  later  was  peeping  through  the  palings 
of  the  fence  that  surrounded  Mrs.  Maynard's  lawn.  I 
saw  a  little  girl  three  or  four  years  younger  than  myself, 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  75 

a  child  with  blue  eyes  and  black  hair,  and  of  most  won- 
derful complexion.  She  was  a  stranger  to  me,  but  I 
beckoned  to  her,  and  she  came  obediently. 

"  Little  girl,"  I  said,  "  there  is  a  terrible  Yankee 
here.  My  grandmother  told  me  so,  and  I  want  to  see 
the  Yankee.    I  never  saw  one  in  my  life." 

She  looked  into  my  eyes  with  those  blue  eyes  of  hers, 
laughed,  and  said: 

"  I'm  the  terrible  Yankee." 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  my  early  education  and  ac- 
quired prejudices,  I  was  forced  to  admit  that  she  did 
not  look  terrible.  I  conceded  in  truth  that  she  was  a 
very  pretty  little  girl,  and  might  become  a  good  com- 
rade. I  unlearned  then  much  of  my  previous  knowl- 
edge, nor  did  I  know  until  I  was  a  man  how  great  my 
awakening  had  been. 

My  grandmother  and  Mrs.  Maynard  fought  against 
our  youthful  friendship.  The  former's  feelings  of 
a  lifetime  against  Yankees  could  not  be  swept  away 
in  an  hour,  and,  moreover,  she  did  not  wish  her  only 
grandson  to  be  the  playmate  of  Ellen  Maynard's  niece. 
But  youthful  perseverance  triumphed.  When  Madam 
Arlington,  my  grandmother,  saw  the  pretty  face  and 
modest  ways  of  the  little  maid,  she  relented  gradually. 
"  Ah,  well,"  she  said,  "  she  could  not  help  the  misfor- 
tune of  her  birth  in  New  England,  and  perhaps  she  came 
away  before  she  was  old  enough  to  be  corrupted.  The 
poor  child  is  to  be  pitied,  not  blamed." 

After  this  Elinor  steadily  made  progress  in  the  stern 
old  woman's  heart.  I  was  in  a  fair  way  myself  to  be- 
come spoiled.  I  hunted  often  in  the  old  library  for 
stories  on  the  long  lonesome  days  when  I  had  no  one 
with  whom  to  play,  and  I  gathered  a  strange  assort- 
ment of  bookish  knowledge,  much  to  my  grandmother's 
pride,  as  I  soon  discovered.  The  minister,  always  a  man 
of  distinction  and  honour  in  our  State,  was  at  our  din- 
ner table,  and  unwisely  made  an  excursion  into  ancient 
6 


76  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

history,  quoting  a  date  and  quoting  it  wrong,  as  I  knew, 
since  it  was  one  of  those  miscellaneous  and  chance  facts 
that  I  had  gathered  in  my  bookish  excursions.  I  cor- 
rected him  promptly,  and  in  a  loud  voice,  somewhat  to 
his  confusion,  and  more  to  that  of  my  grandmother. 
When  the  dinner  was  over  and  the  minister  had  gone  I 
received  severe  attentions  with  a  willow  switch,  which 
I  endured  without  a  tear,  and  after  my  grandmother 
had  dismissed  me  William  Penn  informed  me  confi- 
dentially that  she  had  boasted  of  my  learning  to  the 
whole  household,  and  asserted  that  her  grandson  was 
to  become  a  scholar.  I  know  she  cherished  an  am- 
bition that  I  should  some  day  write  a  book,  and  that  she 
would  be  the  first  to  read  it. 

I  risked  my  favour  again,  a  year  or  two  after  this, 
when  she  found  me  reading  old  histories. 

"  Put  them  down,  Henry,"  she  said  sternly.  "  Those 
histories  are  written  by  Yankees,  and  of  course  are  lies. 
You  ought  to  read  histories  written  by  Southern  men." 

"  But,  grandmother,"  I  protested,  "  the  Southern 
men  don't  write  books." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  replied  with  a  sigh;  "  and  so  the 
world  will  never  know  the  truth  about  the  South,  but 
will  always  believe  that  the  Yankees  have  done  every- 
thing." 

I  think  that  her  ambition  for  me  then  took  definite 
shape.  The  book  that  I  was  "to  write  was  to  be  a  great 
history,  setting  forth  the  grand  and  glorious  deeds  of 
the  South,  and  describing  its  surpassing  virtues.  Per- 
haps I  never  understood  how  deep  her  grief  was  when  a 
few  years  later  I  began  to  express  opinions  differing  in 
many  important  respects  from  hers. 

"  It's  those  books,"  she  said.  "  I  ought  to  have 
burned  them;  or  it's  that  Yankee  girl.  I  should  never 
have  let  her  come  into  my  house.  They  say  there's  no 
fool  like  an  old  fool,  and  I  say  so  too,  unless  it's  a 
young  one." 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  77 

I  feared  for  a  time  that  she  might  speak  rudely  to 
Elinor,  but  I  ought  to  have  known  better.  My  grand- 
mother never  forgot  that  she  was  a  gentlewoman. 

When  I  was  a  man  grown  and  the  gulf  began  to 
open  between  North  and  South  I  told  her,  thinking  it 
was  best  to  leave  no  illusions,  that  if  war  came  I  should 
take  the  side  of  the  North.  She  stared  fixedly  at  the 
wall,  her  face  quite  gray,  and  at  length  said: 

"  I  have  long  known  it.    God's  will  be  done!  " 

She  scarcely  spoke  for  the  next  two  days,  but  on 
the  morning  of  the  third  she  said,  with  some  return 
of  her  old  cheerfulness: 

"  I  never  dreamed  that  the  North  could  be  right  in 
any  particular,  but  surely  it  can  not  be  wholly  wrong, 
for  I  hear  that  Ellen  Maynard  is  claiming  to  be  the  best 
Southerner  of  us  all." 

Her  cheerfulness  continued  to  increase,  and  by  and 
bye  she  was  her  old,  strong,  reliant  self,  and  William 
Penn,  who  had  enjoyed  a  period  of  rest  and  peace  un- 
known to  him  for  years  before,  was  roused  again  to  a 
life  of  activity. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  asked,  "  if  the  war  comes,  as  it 
surely  will,  shall  you  go  to  it?  " 

"Henry,"  said  truthful  William,  looking  at  me  in 
amazement,  "  I  have  served  Madam  Arlington  faith- 
fully for  thirty  years,  and  I  think  that  I  have  done 
my  share." 

It  had  been  fifteen  years  since  I  first  came  into  my 
grandmother's  house,  but  when  she  met  me  now  she 
looked  only  a  little  older  and  grayer,  and  as  erect  and 
strong  as  ever.  Just  as  on  that  earlier  day,  she  kissed 
me  on  the  forehead,  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  said:  "  It 
is  the  same  look;  they  are  Mary's  eyes."  Then  that  old 
scene  suggested  by  the  same  emotions  reproduced  itself. 
Again  she  went  into  the  next  room,  leaving  me  alone, 
and  when  she  came  back,  she  called  loudly: 

"William  Penn,  shall  the  boy  starve,  when  he  has 


78  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

come  perhaps  at  the  risk  of  his  life  to  see  us?  Why 
do  you  leave  him  here  alone  ?  " 

And  William  Penn  came  forth,  also  a  little  older  and 
a  little  grayer,  but  with  no  loss  of  strength,  and  was 
ready  to  see  that  all  the  house  contained  was  at 
my  service.  Then  my  grandmother  told  me  the  tale 
of  her  narrow  world,  interspersing  the  narrative  with 
brief  and  crisp  commentaries  after  her  fashion. 

"  Ellen  Maynard  is  at  her  home,"  she  said,  "  saying 
little  and  taking  no  part  in  the  disputes  that  agitate 
the  neighbourhood.  She  must  mean  mischief.  Elinor 
is  there.  The  girl  has  been  to  see  me  once  only,  and  she 
looked  pale  and  troubled.  There  is  a  stranger  too — a 
man  of  distinguished  appearance  and  great  manners, 
they  say — who  is  often  at  the  house,  and  he  is  in  high 
favour  with  Ellen  Maynard.  His  name  is  Varian,  and 
nobody  knows  where  he  comes  from,  but  it  is  certain 
that  he  is  to  have  a  high  command  in  the  Southern 
army.  I  wonder  what  it  means?  Ellen  Maynard  is  an 
ambitious  woman  and  full  of  intrigue.  I  always  knew 
that  she  could  never  be  trusted.  Elinor,  however,  is  dif- 
ferent. I  don't  understand  how  there  can  be  such  a 
contrast  between  two  people  of  the  same  blood.  All 
this  does  not  mean  any  good  for  you,  Henry.  Why  do 
you  get  on  the  wrong  side?  Why  don't  you  go  with 
those  who  are  sure  to  win?  " 

Madam  Arlington  never  for  a  moment  doubted  the 
complete  triumph  of  the  South,  and  I  had  no  heart  to 
argue  with  her  this  important  point.  She  had  not  been 
in  all  her  life  twenty  miles  from  the  house  in  which  she 
was  born,  but  she  took  the  keenest  interest  in  current 
affairs,  accepting  without  qualification  the  old  fable 
that  one  Southerner  could  whip  five  Yankees.  She  was 
full  of  news,  or  rather  gossip,  of  the  great  army  that  was 
gathering  to  the  southward. 

"  And  it  is  to  be  commanded  by  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston,  one  of  our  Kentuckians — a  great  general,  as 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  79 

every  one  admits."  This  she  said  triumphantly,  and 
then  she  added  regretfully:  "You  ought  to  be  on  his 
staff,  Henry.  He  is  sure  to  be  a  victor.  I  know  that 
there  is  always  room  for  doubt,  but  I  am  sure  that  in 
this  instance  I  am  right." 

I  went  to  Elinor's  home  the  next  day.  She  came  to 
meet  me,  showing  unexpected  warmth,  and  gave  me 
both  of  her  hands. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Henry,"  she  said;  "  but  why 
did  you  come  ?  " 

Then  I  noticed  that  she  was  pale  and  undeniably 
anxious,  as  Madam  Arlington  had  said. 

"  Why  should  I  not  come  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  is  dangerous  for  you  here,"  she  replied. 

"  At  your  house  ?  " 

"  Not  here  alone,  but  at  Madam  Arlington's  house 
too,  or  at  any  other  in  this  country." 

However,  I  was  not  afraid.  Yet  it  was  pleasant  to 
feel  that  she  was  alarmed  for  me.  It  was  true  that  our 
country  was  much  divided,  but  most  of  those  who  were 
going  from  it  to  the  war  had  been  my  friends  all  my 
life,  and  I  did  not  believe  that  they  would  betray  me.  I 
asked  after  Varian,  telling  her  I  had  heard  of  his 
presence. 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  here  more  than  once,"  she  re- 
plied, "  and  he  is  somewhere  in  this  county  now  with 
Mr.  Blanchard,  raising  troops.  Mr.  Varian  is  a  gentle- 
man, and  none  need  fear  treachery  from  him;  that  is,  I 
think  not,  but  I  do  not  trust  Mr.  Blanchard." 

Elinor  seemed  anxious  for  me  to  leave  at  once,  and 
urged  me  to  return  northward.  But  my  pride  was 
aroused.  I  would  not  flee  in  such  haste.  Many  who 
thought  as  I  were  in  the  vicinity.  This  was  debatable 
ground,  and  having  come,  I  should  feel  like  a  coward  if 
I  fled  between  the  first  two  suns.  I  returned  an  evasive 
answer,  although  it  warmed  my  heart  so  much  to  see 
her  apprehension  on  my  account  that  I  wished  her  to 


80  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

ask  me  again.  But  she  was  silent,  her  look  of  anxiety 
remaining. 

I  sent  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Maynard.  She  did 
not  choose  to  see  me.     Then  I  bade  farewell  to  Elinor. 

"  You  are  going  northward  very  soon,  Henry,"  she 
said;  "  I  know  that  you  must,  and  we  may  not  see  each 
other  again  in  a  long  time,  or  it  may  be  never.  I  pray 
God  that  he  will  watch  over  you." 

She  spoke  with  such  deep  feeling  that  I  took  her 
hand  and  kissed  it  after  the  fashion  of  an  earlier  time, 
and  as  I  turned  away  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  I  looked  back  when  I  had  gone  a  little  distance, 
and  she  was  standing  in  the  doorway  gazing  after  me. 
She  waved  her  hand  and  I  waved  mine.  Then  I  rode 
rapidly  away,  looking  back  no  more. 

It  was  clear  to  me  from  her  words  that  she  did  not 
wish  me  to  come  again,  and  I  respected  her  wish.  Why 
she  was  so  anxious  for  me  to  leave  the  country  at  once 
I  did  not  understand;  but  on  the  next  day,  while  I  was 
passing  through  the  woods  only  a  mile  from  Madam 
Arlington's  house,  some  one  shot  at  me.  The  bullet 
whizzed  most  unpleasantly  near  my  head;  when  I 
rushed  to  the  spot  whence  the  report  of  the  weapon 
had  come,  no  one  was  there.  I  would  have  called  it  an 
accident,  the  careless  shot  of  some  stray  hunter,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  quick  disappearance  of  the  man.  I 
was  disturbed  greatly.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  feel  that 
an  assassin  is  pursuing  one.  Varian  and  I  were  antag- 
onists, and  my  first  thought  was  of  him;  then  I  believed 
it  impossible  that  he  should  commit  or  abet  such  a  deed, 
and  my  mind  turned  to  Blanchard.  I  distrusted  the 
man,  and  yet  I  could  not  discern  a  motive.  I  continued 
my  walk,  and  presently  met  William  Penn  Johnson. 

"  Did  you  hear  a  rifle  shot,  William  Penn? "  I 
asked. 

"  I  did,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  immediately  walked  at 
a  brisk  pace  in  the  other  direction.     I  thank  God  every 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  81 

day  that  I  am  not  a  brave  man,  for  being  as  I  am  I 
feel  that  I  shall  live  a  long  and  useful  life,  war  or  no 
war." 

So  saying  he  went  contentedly  about  his  work,  and  I 
returned  to  the  house.  It  was,  in  truth,  time  that  I 
should  go,  but  I  did  not  like  to  be  driven  away.  I  was 
at  that  age  when  one  cares  a  great  deal  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  bravery.  I  said  nothing  about  the  adven- 
ture to  Madam  Arlington,  knowing  how  she  would 
be  grieved  and  alarmed,  and  I  still  lingered,  receiving 
on  the  fourth  day  thereafter  my  reward,  in  the  shape 
of  a  second  bullet,  fired  at  me  apparently  at  a  distance 
of  about  fifty  yards  from  behind  a  rail  fence,  the 
man  again  escaping  through  woods  without  my  being 
able  to  get  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  him.  This  bullet 
was  the  nearest  of  all  to  success,  passing  through  my 
clothing  and  grazing  my  shoulder.  I  was  glad  that 
the  marksmanship  of  my  unknown  enemy  was  as  evil  as 
his  intent.  Two  fair  shots  at  me  and  ne^er  a  hit!  Yet 
I  shivered.  Could  one  expect  always  to  escape  such 
attempts?     How  was  I  to  fight  a  hidden  enemy? 

When  I  went  home  to  dinner  I  noticed  Madam 
Arlington's  keen  eyes  upon  me.  Unfortunately  I  had 
forgotten  that  nothing  ever  escaped  her  notice. 

"  Henry,"  she  said  sternly,  "  isn't  that  a  hole  in  the 
shoulder  of  your  coat?  " 

"  Yes,  grandmother,"  I  said  dutifully;  "  I  tore  it 
on  a  splinter  in  the  barn,  and  I  had  since  forgotten 
about  it.  I  fear  that  I  am  becoming  a  sloven  in  spite  of 
all  your  teaching  and  discipline." 

"  Henry,"  she  continued,  with  increasing  sternness, 
"  come  here  at  once!  " 

I  rose,  and  standing  before  her,  said,  with  great 
respect: 

"  Yes,  grandmother." 

She  examined  the  rent  in  my  coat  slowly  and  critic- 
ally. 


82  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  Henry/'  she  said,  "  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
when  your  coat  strikes  a  splinter  it  tears  a  neat  round 
hole  like  that?  And  it  is  through  the  waistcoat,  too! 
Are  you  to  begin  telling  me  falsehoods  after  fifteen 
years  under  this  roof  ?  " 

I  flushed  guiltily. 

"  Grandmother,"  I  said,  "  I  was  hunting  rabbits, 
and  when  I  leaned  my  gun  against  a  fence  the  trigger 
caught  on  a  rail,  and  bang!  it  went.  It  was  careless,  I 
know,  as  the  bullet  grazed  my  shoulder." 

She  looked  at  me  doubtfully. 

"Humph!"  she  said.  "Then  you  are  too  young 
for  me  to  let  you  go  out  with  a  gun.  Finish  your 
dinner." 

I  obeyed  orders  with  some  embarrassment,  and  she 
said  nothing  more.  I  sat  that  evening  with  her,  and 
the  weather  being  rather  warm  we  left  open  one  of 
the  windows  of  the  room.  Madam  Arlington  was  near 
the  lamp,  busy  with  some  fine  stitching.  Usually  she 
talked  a  great  deal,  as  hers  was  a  full  mind  and  it  liked 
expression,  but  this  evening  she  was  silent.  Yet  I  could 
see  that  her  thoughts  were  busy,  although  not  with  her 
work.  It  occurred  to  me  suddenly  as  I  sat  there  look- 
ing at  her  that  she  must  have  been  very  beautiful  in 
her  youth.  All  others  who  knew  her  may  have  ob- 
served this  long  ago,  but  I  believe  we  seldom  pause  to 
think  whether  our  mothers  or  grandmothers  are  or  were 
beautiful  or  ugly.  Her  features  were  regular,  her  hair 
was  still  glossy,  and  there  was  a  complexion  that  once 
must  have  been  brilliant.  Her  chief  characteristic  now 
was  strength.  Perhaps  it  had  not  always  been  so.  I  felt 
then  how  deep  is  the  misfortune  of  women  left  alone. 

Madam  Arlington  suddenly  laid  down  her  stitching 
and  turned  her  eyes  to  the  open  window. 

"  There  is  some  one  coming,  Henry,"  she  said;  "  a 
rider  who  comes  fast!  " 

"  I  hear  nothing,  grandmother,"  I  replied. 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  83 

"  I  am  nearest  the  window,"  she  said,  "  and  I  hear 
distinctly  the  beat  of  horses'  feet.  It  means  you. 
0  Henry,  why  did  you  stay  so  long?  And  yet  I  am  to 
blame,  for  I  should  have  made  you  go." 

She  rose  and  the  stitching  fell  unheeded  to  the  floor. 
Her  face  expressed  the  deepest  alarm.  I  sought  to  re- 
assure her,  feeling  that  her  fears  were  caused  solely  by 
her  apprehensions  for  me. 

"  Come  to  the  window,"  she  said,  "  and  you  can 
hear." 

I  obeyed,  and  then  the  tramp  of  a  horse  ridden 
rapidly  reached  me. 

"  They  intend  to  arrest  you,"  cried  Madam  Arling- 
ton. "  Run,  Henry!  There  is  time  yet  to  escape  from 
the  back  of  the  house.  No,  there  is  only  one  coming, 
and  I  would  not  have  a  grandson  of  mine  flee  from  a 
single  man!  " 

The  spirit  of  the  pioneers  who  dared  all  the  dangers 
of  the  great  forests  flamed  up  in  her  eyes,  and  she  stood 
by  the  window,  motionless  and  waiting. 

The  tread  grew  louder,  a  horse  and  rider  shot  into 
the  moonlight,  stopped  in  front  of  the  house,  and,  to 
our  unutterable  surprise,  Elinor  Maynard  leaped  down, 
ran  to  the  door,  and  beat  upon  it  heavily  with  the  butt 
of  her  riding  whip. 

I  rushed  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Elinor  stood 
there,  the  whip  still  raised  in  her  hand,  her  face  flushed 
with  excitement. 

"  You  must  go  at  once,  Henry!  "  she  cried.  "  They 
are  coming  for  you!  " 

I  saw  then  that  she  had  ridden  to  warn  me  of  some 
danger,  and  I  felt  a  warm  and  grateful  glow. 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  you  can  not  stand  here.  Come  in- 
side." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  cried  Madam  Arlington.  "  It's 
Elinor  Maynard!  Why,  child,  what  errand  has  brought 
you: 


I?" 


84  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Then  she  seized  Elinor  by  the  arm  and  fairly- 
dragged  her  into  the  house,  while  Elinor  was  crying  to 
me  to  go  at  once,  for  my  life.  Troops  were  coming  to 
seize  me;  they  were  even  then  on  the  way. 

"  But  I  am  not  yet  in  the  Northern  service,"  I  said; 
"  and  even  if  I  were,  they  could  do  nothing  more  than 
hold  me  as  a  prisoner." 

"  You  do  not  know  who  commands  them,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  Captain  Blanchard,  and  there  are  others  with 
him  who  bear  you  malice.  I  tell  you  that  your  life 
is  not  safe!     You  must  go  immediately,  Henry! " 

"  And  you  have  come  to  warn  me?  "  I  said. 

"  Why  should  I  not?  "  she  replied. 

I  was  gratified  and  embarrassed  too.  I  spoke  of 
her  own  danger;  she  said  there  was  none  for  her,  and 
again  she  entreated  me  to  go  at  once. 

"  I  know  of  no  one  who  wishes  my  life,"  I  said,  and 
as  I  said  it  I  remembered  the  shots  that  had  been  fired 
at  me.  But  if  any  danger  really  threatened  I  could  not 
slip  away  in  the  dark  and  leave  unprotected  Madam 
Arlington  and  the  woman  who  had  come  to  save  me.  I 
uttered  my  objection,  and  my  grandmother  spoke  with 
decision. 

"  Elinor  is  right,"  she  said.  "  She  would  not  have 
come  here  in  the  dark  without  reason  for  coming,  and 
you  must  go.  No  protests!  I  will  take  care  of  her 
to-night,  and  carry  her  back  safely  in  the  morning. 
William  Penn,  the  horses  at  once!  You  must  ride  with 
Henry  as  far  as  the  river!  " 

It  was  Madam  Arlington,  ready,  resourceful,  and 
commanding,  who  now  spoke.  I  knew  that  she  was 
right.  Moreover,  Elinor  begged  me  with  her  eyes  to  go, 
and  who  could  resist  such  pleadings?  William  Penn 
had  come  forth  obedient  to  the  call  for  his  services, 
and  while  I  made  my  hasty  preparations  for  flight 
he  saddled  and  bridled  two  horses.  In  the  border 
country  between  the  warring  sections  there  were  thou- 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  85 

sands  of  us  on  either  side  who  fled  in  like  haste  by 
moonlight  or  no  light  at  all,  before  that  long  war  was 
over. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  asked,  "  are  you  not  afraid  to 
go  with  me,  you  who  profess  to  be  such  a  coward?  " 

"  We  are  running  from  the  enemy,  not  toward  him," 
he  replied  calmly;  "  and  that's  the  best  way  to  keep 
out  of  danger." 

I  took  Elinor's  hand  in  mine  and  told  her  good-bye. 

"  Elinor,"  I  said,  "  I  do  not  go  to  stay.  I  shall  come 
again." 

"  I  shall  pray  for  your  safety,"  she  said,  with  a  sad 
little  smile. 

Then  my  grandmother  kissed  me  again  on  the  fore- 
head after  her  custom.     There  was  not  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

"  I  could  wish  that  you  had  chosen  the  other  side, 
Henry,"  she  said;  "  but  it  is  better  to  be  an  honourable 
man  and  be  right  on  the  wrong  side  than  wrong  on 
the  right  side.  Bear  that  in  mind.  This  is  not  new  to 
me;  your  grandfather,  my  husband,  then  for  a  year 
only,  fought  at  New  Orleans,  but  he  came  back  safely, 
as  I  have  faith  that  you,  too,  shall  come." 

My  heart  was  too  full  for  me  to  say  more  to  either; 
waving  my  hand  at  both  I  galloped  away  into  the 
darkness  with  William  Penn. 

We  rode  for  a  while  in  silence,  save  the  beat  of 
our  horses'  feet.  The  night  was  dark  and  William 
Penn's  face  seemed  ghostly  beside  me.  I  liked  little 
this  flight  from  the  home  of  my  childhood,  leaving  be- 
hind me,  and  unprotected,  those  whom  I  held  most  dear; 
but  war  has  less  to  do  than  anything  else  I  know  of 
with  human  affections,  and  it  was  no  time  to  mourn. 

"  We  did  not  leave  too  soon,"  said  William  Penn  ten 
minutes  after  our  start.     "  I  hear  them  behind  us." 

We  stopped  a  moment,  and  bending  our  heads  lis- 
tened.    The  tread  of  a  troop  of  horse  came  to  my  ears. 

"  They've  been  to  the  house,  and  not  finding  me 


86  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

guessed  that  I  would  take  the  southern  road,  which  was 
correct,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  turn  aside  in  the  woods  and 
hide  from  them,"  replied  William  Penn. 

"  And  perhaps  be  taken  on  the  morrow,"  I  said. 
"No,  I  shall  keep  straight  on,  and  do  you,  William 
Penn,  who  are  a  man  of  peace,  ride  into  the  forest  there 
and  you  can  be  safely  at  home  again  before  morning." 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  William  Penn;  "  I  should  be 
frightened  alone  there  in  the  darkness  among  the  trees. 
If  I  have  to  run,  I'd  rather  run  in  company." 

I  thanked  him  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  say- 
ing nothing  more  we  increased  the  speed  of  our  horses. 
The  gallop  of  the  men  behind  us  grew  louder.  Elinor 
had  told  us  that  Blanchard  was  in  command  of  the  ex- 
pedition to  our  house,  and  I  felt  no  doubt  that  this  was 
his  troop.  She  had  informed  us,  too,  that  others  were 
with  him  who  meant  me  great  harm. 

"  They  are  coming  fast,"  said  William  Penn. 

"  You  chose  the  best  horses,  did  you  not? "  I 
asked. 

"  Trust  me  for  that  much,"  he  replied. 

We  paused  for  a  moment  on  the  crest  of  a  hillock, 
where  the  road  stretched  in  a  straight  line  behind 
us  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  cavalrymen  were  now 
near  enough  to  see  us  there  in  the  moonlight,  and 
we  heard  their  distant  shout. 

"  It's  four  miles  from  here  to  the  river,  is  it  not, 
William  Penn?  "  I  asked. 

"  Four  miles  and  one  rod  over,  by  the  survey." 

"  And  the  river  is  in  flood  from  the  spring  rains?  " 

"  Yes,  and  there's  no  bridge." 

"  Then  that's  our  safety  line.  Come!  our  horses 
are  fresh,  and  we  will  show  those  men  what  it  is  to  ride 
a  real  race." 

We  started  at  a  gallop,  and  again  we  heard  the  dis- 
tant halloo  of  the  troopers  behind  us.     Our  horses 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  87 

swung  forward  at  a  steady  gait,  and  the  forest  on  either 
side  of  us  slid  past. 

"  They  can  do  better  than  this.  I  trained  them  my- 
self," said  William  Penn,  flicking  the  mane  of  his  horse 
with  his  free  right  hand. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  I  replied,  "  but  a  waiting 
race  is  most  often  a  winning  one." 

On  we  sped,  the  dark  forest  racing  by,  and  our 
horses'  feet  drumming  on  the  road.  Our  pursuers 
drew  a  little  nearer.  They  raised  their  triumphant 
shout  again,  and  their  rifles  began  to  crack.  But  I 
knew  the  bullets  would  fall  short. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  said,  "  we  may  be  under  fire 
soon.  Gallop  into  the  woods  there  and  you  will  be 
safe.     It  is  not  you  whom  they  want." 

"  If  I  get  wounded,"  he  replied,  turning  his  patient 
face  toward  me,  "  I  want  to  be  with  a  comrade  who  will 
hear  my  groans  and  tie  up  my  wounds.  None  of  this 
hero's  business  of  dying  in  silence  and  alone  for  me." 

His  horse  never  swerved  from  the  side  of  mine. 

"  They  are  still  gaining,"  he  said  presently.  "  I 
hear  their  hoof  beats  now  distinctly.  Oughtn't  we  to 
hurry?  " 

"  But  our  horses  are  by  far  the  fresher;  let  us  wait  a 
little." 

The  exhilaration  of  the  wild  gallop  entered  my 
blood.  I  felt  the  swing  of  the  horse  under  me,  regular 
and  true,  as  if  his  muscles  were  made  of  steel,  and  I 
felt  no  fear. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  said,  "  there  are  worse  things 
than  this." 

"  There  may  be,  but  I  don't  want  to  meet  'em." 

"  Think  what  a  glorious  ride!  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  glory." 

Our  pursuers  drew  a  little  nearer.  More  shots  were 
fired,  and  we  heard  the  whine  of  one  bullet  as  it  sped 
over  our  heads. 


88  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  Lord  forgive  me,  but  what  was  that?  "  cried  Wil- 
liam Penn. 

"  A  hint." 

"  A  hint  for  what?  " 

"  A  hint  to  go  a  little  faster." 

We  eased  our  grasp  on  the  bridle  reins  and  our 
horses  shot  forward.  The  hoof  beats  behind  us  became 
fainter. 

"  That's  what  I  call  really  glorious,  the  dying  of 
that  sound/'  said  William  Penn.  "  But  we  can  do  bet- 
ter than  this.  I  trained  'em  myself.  Come,  Henry,  let 
'em  show  you  how  well  they  can  do." 

"  Be  patient,  William  Penn;  there  is  yet  time." 

"  One  can  be  too  patient,  Henry.  We  can  widen 
the  gap  between  us  and  those  men  if  we  wish,  and  O 
Henry!  how  thankful  I  am  for  that  gap!  " 

We  continued  for  another  mile  at  the  same  pace,  and 
then  William  Penn  made  a  new  appeal  to  me  to  show 
how  good  the  horses  were.  I  saw  that  his  pride  was 
really  aroused,  and  I  gave  the  word.  Urged  on  by  our 
voices  they  leaped  forward,  and  our  pursuers  sank  back 
in  the  moonlight. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you?  "  cried  William  Penn  exult- 
antly. 

"  You  told  the  exact  truth." 

We  presently  saw  ahead  of  us  the  silver  line  of  the 
river;  and  then  as  we  galloped  on,  the  silver  changed  to 
the  yellow  surface  of  a  flood  running  bank  full. 

"  They  will  not  follow  us  across  the  river — and  now 
good-bye,  William  Penn,"  I  said.  "  You  have  been  a 
good  and  faithful  comrade.  ISTo  one  could  have  been 
truer." 

"  I  shall  cross  the  river,  too,"  he  said.  "  If  they 
won't  follow  you  to  the  other  side,  they  won't  follow  me 
either,  and  Pve  been  pursued  enough  to-night." 

We  urged  our  horses  into  the  flood  and,  swimming 
with  strong  and  steady  stroke,  they  soon  reached  the 


A  SOUTHERN  HOME  89 

further  shore.  Our  pursuers,  as  we  had  expected, 
stopped  at  the  river,  which  all  but  those  most  confident 
of  their  horses  might  well  hesitate  to  cross.  Moreover, 
they  saw  that  the  chase  had  become  useless. 

William  Penn  and  I  stopped  at  last. 

"  Now,  William  Penn,"  I  said,  "  you  have  gone  far 
enough." 

"  If  I  were  not  so  much  afraid  of  bullets  I  think  I 
would  continue  with  you  to  the  war,"  he  said,  looking  at 
me  inquiringly. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  replied,  "  nobody  can  find  fault 
with  your  particular  brand  of  cowardice,  but  you  are 
too  old  to  become  a  soldier,  and,  besides,  you  must  go 
back  and  take  care  of  Madam  Arlington." 

"  And  of  Miss  Elinor,  if  need  be?  "  he  said,  still 
looking  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  meeting  his  gaze  firmly. 

"  Then  perhaps  I  can  be  of  more  use  at  home  than 
if  I  became  a  soldier?  " 

"Undoubtedly!" 

Tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  this  faithful  old  friend  as 
he  shook  my  hand  once,  twice,  thrice,  and  then  turned 
to  go.  He  rode  away  with  bowed  head.  When  he  had 
gone  a  rod,  he  called  back: 

"  0  Henry!  " 

"  Yes,  William  Penn." 

"  Eemember  that  it's  no  part  of  a  soldier's  duty  to 
get  in  the  way  of  the  bullets  unless  he  has  to." 

"  I  shall  remember." 

"Good-bye!" 

"Good-bye!" 

Then  he  was  gone,  and  I  rode  on  alone. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    LITTLE    CHURCH    OF    SHILOH 

A  regiment  was  marching,  and  marching  it  held  its 
tongue. 

The  soldiers  had  learned  through  time  and  trouble 
— two  able  teachers — that  talk  was  a  waste,  and  they 
forbore.  They  had  even  ceased  to  swear,  except  at  the 
worst  of  luck,  which  indicated  either  discipline  or  resig- 
nation. The  sound  made  by  hundreds  of  feet,  sunk 
deep  in  the  mud,  and  then  pulled  out  again  like  a 
stopper  from  a  bottle,  kept  up  a  curious  succession  of 
muffled  volleys,  a  kind  of  monotonous  accompaniment 
to  their  marching.  Mingled  with  it  came  the  solemn 
clank  of  artillery,  the  rattle  of  rifles  against  each  other, 
and  now  and  then  the  forlorn  neigh  of  a  tired  horse. 
But  the  soldiers  maintained  their  obstinate  silence, 
bending  their  heads  a  little  to  the  rain  which  was 
pounding  in  their  faces  like  the  leaden  hail  of  hostile 
armies,  and  trod  silently  on.  Sodden  vapours  floated 
over  the  plain  and  weary  bushes  bent  to  the  moaning 
wind.  The  sky  was  a  dirty  gray,  and  huge  clouds  of 
smoky  brown  moved  solemnly  from  horizon  to  hori- 
zon. 

A  river  of  yellowish,  muddy  water  flowed  beside  the 
toiling  soldiers,  its  pace  scarcely  greater  than  theirs, 
and  upon  its  current  floated  some  squat,  ugly  gunboats, 
with  cannon  looking  out  of  the  portholes,  and  tired 
men  on  the  decks.  Occasionally  the  gunboats  emitted 
90 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OF  SHILOH  91 

a  weary  whistle,  as  if  they,  too,  wondered  when  the  long 
march  would  come  to  an  end,  but  the  men  whom  they 
carried  were  as  silent  as  those  on  the  land.  Talk  was 
vanity  and  waste  to  both.  Besides,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  said. 

The  country  was  sombre  and  desolate  like  the . 
skies,  the  two  matching  well.  Bushes,  logs,  and  weeds, 
swept  away  by  the  high  waters,  floated  on  the  yellow 
current  of  the  river.  The  land  was  sterile  and  stony, 
a  bleak  red  soil  that  nourished  only  dwarfed  forests 
and  patches  of  sassafras  bushes — land  and  products  ob- 
viously ashamed  of  each  other;  apparently  it  was  unin- 
habited, save  for  two  or  three  distant  log  cabins  that 
snuggled  between  the  low  hills. 

I  was  the  third  soldier  on  the  left  in  one  of  the 
front  companies,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  most 
impressive  thing  in  the  march  of  all  those  hundreds  was 
the  silence  of  the  men.  "  Men  "  was  really  the  wrong 
word,  for  they  were  nearly  all  boys,  fair  and  large,  with 
the  brown  faces  of  open-air  life,  farmer  boys,  sons  of  the 
forest  and  prairie. 

It  grew  colder  after  awhile  and  hailed. 

"  A  dreary  sight,"  I  said  at  last  to  Shaftoe,  who  was 
my  comrade  on  the  right.  I  had  rejoined  him  at 
Louisville  after  my  escape  across  the  river,  and  we  were 
still  together,  although  it  was  now  the  second  year  of 
the  war. 

"  I  have  seen  worse,  Henry,"  he  replied  cheerfully. 

"When  and  where?"  I  asked,  unbelievingly. 

"When  I  went  out  with  Albert  Sidney  Johnston, 
the  same  that  we're  going  to  fight,  to  Salt  Lake  City,  to 
punish  the  Mormons  for  having  five  wives  apiece  when 
one's  too  many,"  replied  Shaftoe.  "What's  a  bit  of 
chilly  weather  like  this  to  a  storm  on  the  great  plains, 
when  the  cold  freezes  off  all  your  toes  and  fingers,  and 
the  hail  is  as  big  as  baby  cannon  balls?  Then  any 
night  the  buffalo  herds,  forty  million  strong,  might 
7 


92  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

stampede  our  horses  and  run  over  our  whole  army,  and 
if  we  escaped  them  the  chances  were  nine  out  of  ten 
that  we'd  starve  to  death  long  before  we  could  get  to 
Brigham  Young's  capital  and  see  if  it  was  really  true 
that  he  had  seven  dozen  wives.  There's  nothing  so  bad 
that  it  can't  be  a  lot  worse.     Don't  forget  it." 

"  Then  what  would  you  call  this?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  little  exercise  and  change  of  the  weather  for  the 
sake  of  the  blood,"  said  the  veteran  regular,  in  his  usual 
cheerful  tone. 

"But  when  are  we  going  to  reap  the  glories  of 
war?  "  I  persisted. 

"  Don't  make  trouble  for  yourself;  it's  a  bad  plan," 
he  replied,  and  smiled  solemnly  at  me. 

I  relapsed  perforce  into  silence,  but  I  clung  to  my 
opinion  that  the  glory  was  far  ahead.  I  had  been  nearly 
a  year  in  the  service  and  I  had  done  little  save  to  make 
long  marches  or  share  in  futile  skirmishes.  Moreover, 
the  war  was  taking  a  bad  course,  and  the  prospect  of  a 
reunited  nation  seemed  distant.  I  had  suffered  various 
emotions  when  we  began  the  invasion  of  my  own  State, 
and  those  emotions  were  increased  when  we  passed 
within  twenty  miles  of  Madam  Arlington's  house.  I 
had  not  heard  from  my  grandmother  since  the  night 
of  my  flight,  and  I  expected  no  news  although  so  near, 
but  as  we  went  into  camp  a  gray  old  man  rode  up  and, 
after  enduring  patiently  the  jests  from  rude  soldiers, 
was  passed  on  to  me  for  whom  he  had  inquired.  It  was 
William  Penn,  and  his  joy  at  the  meeting  shone  in  his 
eyes.     His  was  not  less  than  mine. 

"  Your  grandmother  is  well,"  he  said,  "  and  she 
sends  you  word  to  keep  your  head  cool  and  your  feet 
dry." 

He  brought  most  welcome  news,  and  he  replied,  too, 
to  my  eager  questionings,  that  Mrs.  Maynard  and  Elinor 
were  still  at  their  home  and  had  not  been  troubled  by 
the  soldiers  of  either  side. 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OP  SHILOH  93 

"  Miss  Elinor  comes  to  see  your  grandmother  often/' 
said  William  Penn,  "  and  they  are  as  thick  as  two  peas 
in  a  pod.  Mrs.  Maynard  does  not  like  it,  but  that  does 
not  make  any  difference  with  Madam  Arlington.  You 
know  her." 

I  thought  that  in  truth  I  knew  my  grandmother,  and 
I  was  forced  to  smile.  I  asked  if  he  had  heard  any- 
thing more  of  Varian.  He  replied  that  Varian  had 
been  at  the  Maynard  house  often  until  some  months  ago 
when  he  went  South  to  join  Johnston's  army,  with 
which  he  was  now  supposed  to  be. 

When  William  Penn  started  home  he  slipped  in  my 
hands  a  flask. 

"  It's  the  best  Kentucky  make,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
wouldn't  be  putting  temptation  in  the  hands  of  the 
young,  but  it  will  be  medicine  to  you  on  these  long 
winter  marches." 

I  thought  over  the  good  William  Penn's  visit,  and 
now  as  I  marched  by  Shaftoe's  side  I  wished  that  he 
might  come  again  with  another  message  from  those  for 
whom  I  cared. 

The  wind  and  the  hail  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy 
against  the  bedraggled  army.  It  was  that  curious 
weather  of  southern  Kentucky  and  northern  Tennes- 
see, when  winter  and  spring,  trying  to  meet,  fail,  and 
the  hiatus  is  filled  in  with  any  sort  of  a  day  you  dislike, 
a  succession  of  hot  and  cold  extremes,  in  beautiful  alter- 
nation. 

The  wind  died  soon  and  the  skies  were  obscured  by 
rolling  brown  clouds,  forming  a  depressing  canopy 
under  which  we  trod  in  silence,  while  fog  rose  up  from 
the  damp  earth. 

"  See!  the  sun  will  shine  again,"  said  Shaftoe  pres- 
ently, pointing  to  a  dim  redness  showing  through  the 
vapours.     "  Watch  it  scatter  these  mists  and  clouds." 

The  light  grew,  throwing  out  both  red  and  yellow 
beams,  the  fog  began  to  shred  away,  the  bayonets  rose 


94  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

out  of  it  again  like  a  hedge  of  steel,  the  faces  of  the  men 
appeared,  damp  as  if  from  a  bath,  patches  of  fog  floated 
away  like  steam  from  the  manes  of  the  horses.  I  was 
filled  with  admiration  at  this  sudden  reappearance  of 
the  lost  regiment,  glittering  now  in  the  sun,  whose 
radiant  light  gilded  the  brown  faces  of  the  men  and 
their  sombre  garments.  The  clouds  fled  in  defeated 
battalions  from  the  skies,  which  arched  overhead,  a 
dome  of  satinlike  blue,  save  where  the  sun,  gorgeous 
in  red  and  gold,  filled  a  circle  in  the  western  curve,  and 
long  bars  of  crimson  light  shot  away  toward  the  hori- 
zon. Winter  had  suddenly  fled,  and  spring,  after  the 
frequent  custom  of  the  middle  South,  came  crowding 
on  its  footsteps,  granting  not  a  minute's  delay.  A 
warm  wind  blew  from  the  west,  and  the  desolate  trees 
raised  their  boughs  and  showed  green. 

"  To  enjoy  being  dry  it's  well  to  have  been  wet," 
said  Shaftoe. 

A  man  of  most  singular  appearance  walked  just 
ahead  of  us.  He  was  tall,  thin,  with  sharp  face  and 
wonderfully  bright  eyes,  and  he  was  not  in  uniform,  his 
clothing  being  black,  and  his  coat  very  long.  He  was 
the  chaplain  of  our  regiment.  Before  we  left  Louis- 
ville I  was  on  sentinel  duty  when  he  undertook  to  walk 
into  the  lines.     I  stopped  him  and  asked  who  he  was. 

"  Friend,"  he  replied  sternly,  "  I  am  a  humble  fol- 
lower of  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus;  and  pray  who 
are  you?  " 

I  said  that  I  was  the  sentinel  on  watch,  and  then 
he  gave  me  a  card  on  which  was  written,  "  The  Eev- 
erend  Elkanah  Armstrong,  Eevivalist."  He  became 
our  chaplain  shortly  afterward,  and  a  braver  man  I 
never  saw.  He  was  of  the  denomination  known  in 
the  West  as  Hard-shell  Baptist,  and  he  shirked  no 
toil  or  danger.  Now  he  strode  on  before  in  silence,  an 
example  of  self-reliance  and  devotion  to  duty. 

We  passed  into  deep  forests  of  oak,  and  hickory, 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OP  SHILOH  95 

and  beech,  and  pine.  It  was  a  large  regiment,  with 
horses  and  wagons,  and  artillery,  but  the  forest  was  so 
great  that  it  swallowed  us  up,  and  took  no  note  of  our 
passage,  just  as  it  had  swallowed  up  the  Army  of  the 
Tennessee,  to  which  this  regiment  belonged,  and  which 
it  was  endeavouring  to  overtake.  The  main  force  had 
come  on  the  Tennessee  by  steamer,  but  our  regiment 
was  compelled  to  make  the  last  stretch  of  the  journey 
by  land. 

Even  in  the  forest,  as  if  to  atone  for  its  long  eclipse, 
the  brilliant  sun  penetrated  the  leafy  shadows,  throwing 
its  yellow  beams  across  the  trees  and  the  young  grass, 
where  the  drops  of  water  still  twinkled  like  many-col- 
oured beads.  The  wind  from  the  far  southwest  brought 
with  it  the  odour  of  summer  flowers.  The  spirits  of  the 
boys,  marching  in  ragged  ranks,  rose.  One  began  to 
sing — 

"  We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more," 

and  all  the  other  boys  took  it  up  in  a  huge  volume  of 
sound  which  may  not  have  been  musical,  although  not 
without  grandeur,  as  it  rolled  in  waves  through  the 
illimitable  forest. 

"  Some  of  the  officers  are  trying  to  stop  this;  it's  a 
mistake,"  said  Shaftoe  to  me.  "  The  spirit  to  sing 
means  the  spirit  to  fight." 

"  But  we  may  never  overtake  the  Southern  army,"  I 
said. 

"  Then  there's  consolation  in  that,"  he  replied,  "  for 
we  won't  die  a  sudden  and  violent  death,  which,  I  take 
it,  will  be  agreeable  to  our  feelings." 

The  splendour  of  the  sun  increased,  its  brilliant  rays 
cutting  a  way  through  the  budding  foliage  of  the  forest 
and  finding  every  cranny.  The  arms  of  the  soldiers 
glittered,  and  the  west  was  a  flood  of  red  and  yellow, 
great  clouds  of  gold  and  scarlet  piling  upon  each  other 


96  IN  CIKCLING  CAMPS 

like  terraces  in  the  sky.  The  waves  of  warmth  flowed 
northward,  and  the  moist  earth  dried  under  their  heal- 
ing touch. 

We  overtook  at  nightfall  the  Army  of  the  Tennes- 
see, just  camping  in  the  forest  which  rolled  away  on 
every  side,  seemingly  without  end,  and  began  to  gather 
brushwood  from  the  littered  ground  for  the  fires.  I 
went  with  Shaftoe  on  one  of  these  trips,  and  wandering 
far  from  the  camp  we  came  presently  to  a  little  wooden 
house  standing  in  a  clearing — a  lone,  bare  building, 
square  and  plain,  never  costing  more  than  a  few  dollars 
to  build.  The  place  was  silent,  nowhere  did  we  see  a 
sign  of  life;  there  were  no  outbuildings,  just  that  lone 
little  box,  and  yet  it  was  not  without  a  sort  of  silent 
majesty;  the  huge  red  disk  of  the  sun  was  sinking  be- 
hind the  distant  hills,  and  its  rays  fell  full  upon  the  win- 
dow of  the  little  house;  the  glass  gave  them  back  with 
interest,  and  seemed  to  blaze  in  red  fire;  every  plank, 
and  log,  and  shingle  was  luminous  in  this  last  light,  and 
as  the  sun  became  dimmer  the  little  house  seemed  to 
grow  in  size. 

"  Now,  if  I  believed  in  ghosts  Fd  say  that  place  was 
haunted,"  said  Shaftoe.     "  I  vote  we  don't  go  in." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  in  any  more  than  you  do,"  I 
said,  and  shivered,  feeling  the  chill  of  the  coming  night; 
"  but  across  yonder  is  another  clearing,  and  I  see  now  a 
farmer  getting  ready  to  go  home;  let's  talk  with  him." 

The  light  of  the  setting  sun  made  a  focus  of  the 
farmer,  showing  all  his  angles  and  seams  as  he  stood 
on  a  distant  hillside,  unhitching  his  horse  from  the 
plough.  "We  hastened  over  the  rough  ground  and  over- 
took him  just  as  he  mounted  to  ride  home.  He  was  old, 
gnarled,  knotty,  and  brown,  a  man  who  had  passed 
through  many  cold  winters  and  hot  summers,  enduring 
both  as  they  came. 

I  knew  that  the  farmer  must  be  like  others  whom  we 
met  in  those  regions,  devoted  adherents  of  the  South, 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OF  SHILOH  97 

but  I  hailed  him  in  friendly  fashion.  He  merely  nod- 
ded, paying  no  attention  to  our  blue  uniforms. 

"  What  country  is  this?  "  I  asked. 

"  Tennessee." 

"  I  know  that/'  I  said,  "  but  your  answer  is  vague." 

"  The  answer  fitted  the  question." 

"  What  is  that? "  asked  Shaftoe,  pointing  to  the 
lone  building  which  was  now  half  in  shadow. 

"  That,"  replied  the  old  man,  his  eyes  following 
Shaftoe's  pointing  finger,  "is  the  little  church  of 
Shiloh." 

"  A  lonesome  place,"  I  said. 

The  farmer  did  not  reply. 

"  You've  been  ploughing,"  I  added,  irritated  a  little 
at  his  taciturn  manner. 

"  Yes." 

"  But  your  soil  is  sterile,"  I  continued,  pointing  to 
the  red  hillside.     "  It  ought  to  be  fertilized." 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be." 

"With  what?" 

"With  your  bones." 

Then  the  old  man  clucking  to  his  horse,  rode  off 
through  the  woods. 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  that?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Shaftoe;  "  but  you  can  wager 
your  chance  of  heaven  against  a  glass  of  lemonade  that 
he's  a  thick-and-thin  rebel,  and  you'll  never  smell  fire." 

I  watched  the  old  man  for  a  few  moments  as  he 
rode  away  between  the  trees,  which  grew  in  long  rows 
like  columns,  his  figure  forming  a  sombre  blur  against 
the  background  of  the  twilight.  I  had  listened  to 
many  prophets  and  most  were  false,  but  this  might 
be  a  true  one.  The  little  church  of  Shiloh  was  in- 
visible now,  save  a  single  beam  of  light  from  the  lost 
sun  which  struck  upon  the  glass  of  the  window  and 
twinkled  in  the  twilight  like  a  bead  of  fire,  and,  then 
going  out,  left  no  ray  of  brightness  in  the  darkening 


98  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

woods,  silent  save  for  the  moaning  wind,  though  the 
Northern  army  of  forty  thousand  men  lay  not  far  away. 

We  hastened  back  toward  that  army,  oppressed 
somewhat  by  the  lengthening  shadows  and  the  wailing 
of  the  wind  in  the  lonely  woods. 

Presently  a  luminous  haze  showed  through  the 
darkness,  and  its  pink  light  grew  into  red  as  we  ap- 
proached the  camp,  where  hundreds  of  fires  already  were 
burning.  The  forest  was  illuminated;  while  dark  on 
the  outside  it  was  warm  at  heart,  and  my  spirits  sprang 
up  at  the  sight.  Thousands  of  voices'  blending  made 
a  cheerful  chatter,  and  figures  passed  and  repassed, 
black  lines  before  and  behind  the  flames.  Millions  of 
sparks  flew  off  among  trees  still  too  damp  to  catch 
fire,  and  the  forty  thousand  men  and  boys,  farmers 
nearly  all,  accustomed  to  self-help  and  a  life  in  the  open 
air,  took  comfort  basking  in  the  firelight  and  cooking 
their  suppers,  which  they  ate  without  criticism. 

"  What  soldiers  they  will  make  with  a  little  disci- 
pline and  trial  in  the  fire!  "  said  Shaftoe,  eyeing  the 
muscular  forms;  and  then  under  his  breath,  although 
I  heard  him,  "  if  they  are  not  killed  first." 

A  faint  shadow  appeared  on  the  veteran's  face  as 
he  looked  at  this  multitude  of  boys  who  endured  so 
much  and  were  happy  over  so  little.  "  Good  food  for 
the  cannon — too  good!  "  I  heard  him  add. 

I  took  my  place  with  Shaftoe  beside  one  of  the  fires, 
but  the  old  regular  would  not  let  me  rest;  first  it  was 
shoes  and  socks  to  be  dried,  and  then  the  clothing  that  I 
wore  next  to  my  skin. 

"  Look  to  your  feet;  it's  the  first  duty  of  a  soldier," 
he  said,  thus  confirming  my  grandmother's  advice. 
"  They  are  the  beginning  of  a  man,  starting  right  at  the 
ground,  and  the  rest  is  built  upon  'em.  They  are  the 
foundation  of  him,  and  he  must  take  care  of  'em.  What 
use  has  the  Government  for  a  soldier  who  can't  march? 
It's  bought  all  your  fighting  qualities,  paying  you  so 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OP  SHILOH  99 

much  per  month  for  'em,  and  if  you  are  an  honest  man 
you'll  stick  to  the  whole  text  of  the  bargain.  So  don't 
forget  your  feet." 

He  made  all  those  about  him  follow  his  suggestions 
and  did  a  hundred  other  things  which  seemed  little, 
but  which  I  know  now  were  vital  to  the  soldier  on  the 
march.  Yet  in  all  this  work,  received  sometimes  un- 
gratefully, he  was  lively  and  gay,  pretending  that  he 
was  doing  nothing,  repressing  the  disorderly,  encourag- 
ing the  weak,  and  becoming  the  father,  protector,  and 
confessor  of  the  company.  I,  looking  on,  admired,  and 
at  last  asked  how  he  did  it. 

"  If  a  man  can't  learn  anything  in  thirty  years  he's 
a  born  fool,  with  nature  improved  by  art/'  replied 
Shaftoe. 

He  would  say  no  more,  and  the  captain  of  the  com- 
pany, who  had  seen  just  enough  of  the  military  life  to 
feel  sure  that  Shaftoe  knew  a  hundred  times  as  much  as 
himself,  smoked  a  pipe  and  was  wisely  silent.  We  had 
plenty  of  stores,  and  supper  was  abundant.  The  men 
ate  and  were  happy.  The  fires  ran  in  lines  through  the 
forest  and  formed  a  great  core  of  light  which  shone  over 
the  brown  faces,  the  rifles,  and  the  cannon.  Shaftoe 
loosened  his  belt  and  said  life  was  good;  I  did  not  deny 
it,  feeling  a  great  content.  Some  one  produced  an  old 
accordion  and  began  to  play  the  martial  strains  of 
Dixie. 

"  That's  not  our  tune/'  I  said.  "  It  belongs  to  the 
South;  besides,  the  Southerners  played  it  at  Bull  Eun 
when  they  beat  us." 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Shaftoe.  "We're  in  Dixie 
now  and  we  can  borrow  their  music — spoils  of  con- 
quest.    And  it's  lively." 

Some  of  the  men  began  to  dance,  and  the  officers 
did  not  stop  them.  Their  figures  swung  back  and  forth 
before  the  background  of  the  blazing  fires  like  sil- 
houettes on  a  screen,  and  the  effect  became  ghostly 


100  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

and  unreal  to  me.  Forty  thousand  shadows  dancing  by 
night  in  the  wilderness!  I  laughed  at  my  fantasy 
and  concluded  that  it  was  too  huge.  Those  were  real 
figures  of  real  men,  my  comrades,  and  good  fellows. 

The  rattle  of  distant  rifle  shots  came  from  two  or 
three  points,  but  we  did  not  stir. 

"  That's  a  bad  practice  the  men  have  got  into," 
said  the  regular,  "  firing  off  their  guns  when  they 
change  guard.  It's  a  waste  of  ammunition,  a  warning 
to  the  enemy  if  he  ever  comes  within  hearing,  and  it's 
contrary  to  every  rule  of  discipline  in  every  book  of 
warfare  that  was  ever  printed.  What  would  our  col- 
onel have  said  to  such  a  thing  in  the  little  old  regular 
army?  " 

I  grew  sleepy.  The  old  accordion  still  played  the 
martial  tunes,  the  forest  giving  back  discordant  echoes, 
but  its  tones  seemed  softer,  the  fires  danced  about 
in  queer  fashion,  and  I  lay  down  upon  the  ground 
for  my  night's  rest.  I  was  aroused  by  a  jerk  from 
Shaftoe. 

"Get  up!"  cried  the  regular.  "Don't  you  know 
enough  yet  not  to  go  to  sleep  on  the  bare  ground,  'spe- 
cially when  it's  soaking  with  damp  as  it  is  to-night? 
One  would  think  that  you  were  a  raw  recruit." 

I  apologized  with  some  shame  for  my  lack  of  precau- 
tion, and  securing  an  armful  of  boughs  and  brushwood 
stretched  myself  upon  them,  wrapped  in  my  blanket. 
The  forest  moved  off  into  space,  the  noises  ceased,  the 
fires  faded  and  went  out,  and  I  slept. 

I  awoke  once  in  the  night,  and  I  always  remember 
that  scene  as  if  it  were  a  dream.  A  light  fog  was  rising, 
the  earth  having  received  so  much  rain  that  the  damp- 
ness lingered.  The  fires  smouldered,  and  the  soldiers 
lay  so  thick  that  they  seemed  to  my  half-conscious 
senses  to  form  a  living  carpet  for  the  earth.  Sleeping 
the  heavy  sleep  of  exhaustion,  they  were  so  silent  that  I 
was  awed.    Forty  thousand  men  lying  there  in  the  forest 


^ 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OF  SHILOH  101 

were  like  forty  thousand  dead.  The  horses,  weary  with 
work,  were  as  still  as  their  masters.  Above  them  all 
floated  the  clouds  of  fog  and  darkness. 

I  was  aroused  after  midnight  by  Shaftoe,  who  told 
me  that  it  was  my  turn  at  the  watch.  He  was  to  stand 
guard  with  me. 

We  walked  westward  through  the  forest,  no  one 
paying  the  slightest  heed  to  us,  and  passed  a  large  tent 
open  at  one  side,  with  the  light  of  two  lanterns  shining 
from  it  and  disclosing  its  occupants.  A  half  dozen 
men  sitting  in  the  tent  were  talking  earnestly  or  bend- 
ing over  maps  and  papers. 

"  That's  Grant  on  the  left,"  said  Shaftoe. 

I  looked  curiously  at  the  victor  of  Fort  Donelson, 
the  short,  thickset  man  with  the  reddish  beard,  the 
strong  face,  and  the  heavy  jaw.  This  general  had  be- 
gun to  attract  attention  by  his  vigour  and  his  capture 
of  Donelson,  and  it  was  said  that  he  was  the  single 
Northern  leader  of  great  promise  in  the  West.  I  no- 
ticed that  he  was  the  only  one  in  the  tent  who  said 
nothing,  apparently  content  with  listening. 

"  A  council  of  war,"  said  Shaftoe.  "  They're  try- 
ing to  put  their  hand  on  that  Southern  army;  they 
can't,  and  maybe  if  they  could  they'd  be  sorry  they  did, 
like  the  man  who  caught  the  fox." 

We  moved  on  in  the  darkness,  which  closed  in  be- 
hind us,  enveloping  the  tent  and  its  occupants  and  hid- 
ing them  from  our  gaze. 

As  we  took  our  places  we  heard  the  reports  of  many 
shots,  and  again  Shaftoe  scored  the  foolish  habit  in 
which  the  men  were  indulging  as  they  changed  the 
guard,  and  the  laxity  of  the  officers  in  permitting  it. 

"  More  good  powder  burnt,"  he  said,  "  and  a  lot  of 
noise  for  nothing.  War  isn't  a  mere  popping  of  fire- 
crackers." 

After  that  the  night  was  not  disturbed,  and,  the 
long  hours  passing  in  silence,  I  saw  at  last  the  sun 


102  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

rising  out  of  the  east,  the  welcome  signal  that  our 
watch  was  over.  Eesigning  my  place  to  my  relief,  I  re- 
turned with  Shaftoe  to  the  camp  and  breakfast.  As  we 
approached  we  heard  a  tumult  and  the  sound  of  oaths. 

"  Only  some  of  those  Kentuckians  drunk  again," 
said  a  regular,  an  acquaintance  of  Shaftoe's. 

They  were  bringing  the  drunkards  in,  a  sodden  lot, 
some  young,  and  all  very  drunk.  They  had  got  at 
the  sutler's  stores  and  had  gone  through  the  liquor 
like  a  fire  in  a  broom  sedgefield.  A  middle-aged  man 
with  a  scar  on  his  face  was  sustained  by  two  of  his  com- 
rades and  his  faith  in  his  own  greatness,  though  his 
feet  wabbled  like  those  of  a  baby.  A  boy  walking  near 
him  lurched  wildly,  but  did  not  fall.  Two  or  three 
others  were  trying  to  sing,  committing  hideous  outrages 
upon  familiar  old  tunes.  I  was  disgusted  and  I  felt 
shame,  too,  because  they  were  from  my  own  State. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  said  Shaftoe,  "  especially  as  some  of 
'em  would  make  good  soldiers — if  they'd  keep  sober. 
The  man  with  the  scar  on  his  face,  Jake  Sibley,  went 
through  the  Mexican  war — that's  where  he  got  the  scar 
— and  he's  as  brave  as  a  hornet." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  replied;  "  but  he's  only  drunk  now." 

Sibley  had  begun  to  shout  in  a  kind  of  lax  enthu- 
siasm, and  one  of  the  guard  prodded  him  in  the  side 
with  a  gun  muzzle  to  keep  him  quiet.  A  tall,  thin  man 
with  the  face  and  gravity  of  a  clergyman,  but  as  drunk 
as  any  of  the  rest,  began  to  remonstrate,  but  made  his 
protests  with  curses,  which  he  poured  out  in  such  a 
stream  and  with  so  much  solemnity  that  I  was  amazed. 

"  His  name's  Parker,  William  Parker — the  '  Eever- 
end  Bill '  they  call  him  sometimes,"  said  Shaftoe.  "  He 
was  educated  for  the  ministery,  but  I  don't  think  his 
education  was  finished;  at  least  there  was  a  misfit  some- 
where, as  you  can  see." 

The  noisy  crowd  was  driven  on  by  the  guard  to  work 
out  its  offences  in  camp  labour,  and  I  sought  my  bed 


THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OP  SHILOH  103 

of  boughs  again  as  the  army  about  us  came  to  life  and 
prepared  to  take  breakfast.  The  note  of  many  thou- 
sand voices  rose  cheerfully.  The  men  of  the  West, 
sinewy  and  enduring,  were  forgetting  already  their  la- 
bours and  privations.  Used  to  the  open  air  and  the 
woods,  they  found  no  difficulty  in  making  this  forest, 
new  to  them,  their  home.  I  thought  of  Shaftoe's 
words,  and  I  began  to  see  what  soldiers  these  long- 
limbed,  hardy  sons  of  the  fields  and  plains  would  make 
when  they  acquired  the  proper  experience  and  disci- 
pline, and,  so  thinking,  I  went  to  sleep  again. 


CHAPTER   XII 


WITH   THE    VANGUAED 


Some  days  passed  and  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee, 
forty  thousand  recruits,  waiting  for  the  Army  of  the 
Ohio,  forty  thousand  of  the  same  kind,  to  come  up, 
took  root  where  it  lay,  with  its  sides  resting  on  Owl 
and  Lick  Creeks,  and  its  back  to  the  Tennessee  River. 
I  heard  it  said  among  the  soldiers  who  exercised  their 
privilege  of  free  speech  that  we  would  resume  our 
southward  march  as  soon  as  Buell  arrived  with  the 
Army  of  the  Ohio;  and  all  were  impatient  to  see  him, 
since  we  were  afraid  that  the  Southern  forces,  reported 
to  be  gathering  in  great  strength  at  Corinth,  in  Missis- 
sippi, would  retreat  farther  into  the  heart  of  the  Con- 
federacy. 

Our  young  force  lying  in  the  Southern  woods, 
with  the  spring  growing  about  it,  and  the  memory  of  its 
victory  at  Donelson,  which  was  called  brilliant,  yet 
fresh,  began  to  feel  the  high  blood  in  its  veins  and  re- 
joice at  its  vigour.  The  few  men  and  women  who  lived 
there  were  loyal  to  the  South,  and  if  they  knew  any- 
thing to  tell  of  the  Southern  army  at  Corinth  nothing 
could  have  drawn  from  them  the  telling  of  it.  That 
army  we  began  to  believe  had  become  a  fantasy,  a 
dream;  it  was  worse — a  joke.  Sibley  served  his  term 
for  drunkenness  and  proved  himself  a  braggart  as  well 
as  a  soak. 

"  We  took  all  the  rebels  at  Donelson,"  he  said;  "  the 
rest  are  ghosts." 
104 


WITH  THE  VANGUARD  105 

His  pronouncement  was  received  with  applause,  and 
feeling  approval  he  swaggered  more  than  ever.  The 
eighteen-year-old  boy,  Masters,  already  a  hardened 
drunkard,  imitated  him  with  success,  and  considered 
himself  on  the  road  to  greatness.  But  I  saw  the  gen- 
erals sometimes,  and  I  was  a  witness  to  the  anxiety  on 
their  faces  when  they  looked  upon  the  raw  army  and 
wondered  if  they  would  ever  get  a  chance  at  their  eva- 
sive foe. 

The  spring  still  unfolded,  and  the  steamers  puffed 
up  and  down  the  river,  the  lazy  coils  of  smoke  trailing 
across  the  blue  sky.  One  evening  some  cavalry,  scout- 
ing, exchanged  shots  with  Confederates,  but  it  was  only 
a  partisan  band,  they  said,  and  the  camp,  ashamed  to 
have  aroused  itself  over  such  a  trifle,  settled  back  to  its 
waiting.  Buell,  with  the  second  army,  was  close  at 
hand,  and  then,  being  in  great  force,  we  would  start 
South  again.  The  next  night  was  that  of  Saturday, 
April  5,  1862,  beautiful,  warm,  and  clear,  fit  to  pre- 
cede the  day  of  rest,  Sunday,  and  near  midnight  Shaf- 
toe  and  I  took  our  places  on  the  picket  line.  Our  beats 
adjoined,  and  as  we  trod  back  and  forth,  and  met, 
we  exchanged  a  word  now  and  then,  but  oftener  were 
silent. 

The  forest  was  luminous  behind  me  with  the  lights 
from  a  thousand  fires,  and  when  I  looked  back  I  saw 
the  tracery  of  the  trees  appearing  black  and  sharp, 
an  infinite  network  against  the  glow  of  crimson  and 
pink;  but  in  front  my  eyes  met  only  the  wall  of  the 
forest,  dark  and  silent,  rising  like  an  impregnable  bar- 
rier between  the  army  and  the  South.  The  nearest 
trees  waved  ghostly  boughs  in  the  moonlight,  but  far- 
ther on  they  melted  together  and  no  light  passed  be- 
tween. A  curious  wailing  noise,  the  sighing  of  the  night 
breeze  among  the  foliage,  came  out  of  that  forest,  and, 
though  I  knew  its  nature,  I  was  moved  by  its  lonely  note. 
The  sound  was  distinct  in  my  ear,  despite  the  tumult 


106  IN  CIRCLING   CAMPS 

of  the  camp  behind  me,  which  had  not  yet  died  even  at 
so  late  an  hour.  It  was  like  a  faint  sob,  and  it  rose  and 
sank  but  never  ceased.  A  small  creek  flowed  near  and 
some  rays  of  moonlight  fell  on  its  surface,  disclosing  the 
silver  bubbles,  but  the  creek,  too,  quickly  sank  into  the 
black  wall  of  the  forest  and  vanished.  There  was  a 
rustle  in  a  thicket  and  I  took  my  rifle  from  my  shoulder, 
but  it  was  only  a  rabbit  which  leaped  over  a  hillock  and 
was  gone,  running  northward.  I  put  my  weapon  back 
on  my  shoulder  and  resumed  my  lonely  beat.  Lonelier 
I  was  to-night  than  I  had  been  in  many  days,  for  my 
mind  was  running  back  over  the  past  year  and  to  those 
who  were  dear  to  me,  though  I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  for- 
est because  it  was  my  duty  to  look  that  way,  and  because 
there  was  a  spell  in  the  solemn  blank  presented  there; 
it  was  not  a  barrier  only,  but  a  mystery  too,  and  the 
moan  of  the  wind  through  the  boughs  was  its  voice, 
which  I  could  not  interpret. 

There  was  a  rustle;  it  was  only  another  rabbit  that 
leaped  out  of  a  thicket  and  scurried  away;  two  more 
followed  presently.  I  remembered  a  little  later  that 
all  of  them  like  the  first  ran  northward. 

The  rumble  of  the  camp  behind  me  continued,  and  it 
was  not  one  voice,  but  many,  most  of  which  were 
known  to  me.  I  heard  the  heavy  clank  of  a  cannon 
moved  into  a  new  position,  the  rattle  of  rifles  against 
each  other,  the  clatter  of  pots  and  kettles  thrown  into  a 
corner  for  the  morning's  use.  The  next  day  was  Sun- 
day, and  the  chaplains  would  hold  services  in  the  camp, 
for  our  Westerners  were  a  religious  people,  liking  the 
faith  and  the  externals,  and  not  much  addicted  to  in- 
trospection. 

The  luminous  haze  over  the  camp  which  gave  it 
such  a  picturesque  effect  sank  a  little,  the  dimness  of 
the  night  was  creeping  down  and  inclosing  the  army. 
Far  above  shoals  of  stars  twinkled  in  a  sky  of  cloud- 
less blue. 


WITH  THE   VANGUARD  107 

I  walked  back  toward  the  eastern  end  of  my  beat  and 
saw  Shaftoe  approaching.  The  regular  at  that  moment 
was  in  an  open  space  and  the  moon's  rays  clothed  him 
in  a  garment  of  misty  silver,  wrapping  it  about  his 
figure  like  a  veil,  enlarging  and  idealizing  him.  I  no- 
ticed that  he  was  still  elastic,  upright,  his  dress  trim, 
the  man  like  his  equipment  in  perfect  order,  and  ready 
with  a  great  reserve  of  strength  for  any  call  no  matter 
how  unexpected.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  bore  upon 
him  the  seal  of  the  United  States  Government,  the 
American  regular  soldier,  made  especially  for  his  work; 
the  guarantee  that  the  goods  were  perfect  was  current 
in  any  market. 

Shots  were  heard  to  the  right. 

"  Those  fool  volunteers  firing  off  their  guns  again 
at  the  change  of  guard,"  said  Shaftoe. 

We  stood  a  moment  when  we  met,  listening,  but  the 
shots  ceased.  Then  we  looked  toward  the  forest  which 
had  the  same  peculiar  attraction  for  both. 

"  Do  you  know  that  we  two  are  alone  with  the  uni- 
verse?" asked  Shaftoe. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  There  are  forty  thousand  men  behind  us,  but  we 
do  not  see  one  of  them.  So  far  as  we  are  concerned 
we  are  the  only  two  human  beings  on  this  globe.  A  man 
feels  it  on  a  night  like  this  in  the  forest,  but  he  feels  it 
most  of  all  in  the  dark,  and  in  the  immensity  of  the 
great  plains,  where  a  bullet  might  travel  a  thousand 
miles  east,  west,  north,  or  south,  and  hit  nothing. 
It's  out  there,  in  all  the  huge  loneliness,  that  the 
regulars  have  been  doing  their  great  work  clearing 
the  way  for  new  States.  Some  day  the  world  may  hear 
of  it." 

He  did  not  say  these  things  in  any  tone  of  complaint, 
but  merely  as  a  fact,  and  shouldering  his  rifle  again 
walked  back  on  his  beat.  I  followed  him  with  my  eyes. 
This  man  had  served  his  Government  for  thirty  years, 


108  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

unknown,  unrewarded,  and  unthanked;  he  stood  now 
where  he  was  when  he  began,  plus  nothing  except  thirty 
years,  and  yet  he  had  no  complaint  to  make,  no  fault 
to  find  with  anybody,  but  did  his  duty  as  cheerfully  and 
well  in  the  thirtieth  year  as  in  the  first.  I  leaned  upon 
Shaf  toe  although  I  did  not  know  it  then. 

The  fires  of  the  camp  sank  lower,  the  misty  dusk 
hovering  between  the  clear  blue  sky  and  the  earth 
thickened,  the  clang  of  weapons  and  the  talk  of  the 
men  ceased.  Most  of  the  camp  was  sleeping.  The 
wind  increased  a  little,  and  its  moan  among  the  trees 
grew  louder.  The  flames  died,  and  only  the  glowing 
coals  remained.  All  but  the  generals  and  sentinels 
slept.  The  camp  was  still,  save  a  murmur  like  a  heavy 
wind,  made  by  the  regular  breathing  of  forty  thousand 
men  in  slumber.  As  I  walked  my  beat  I  heard  nothing 
but  this,  the  real  wind  in  the  forest,  and  the  tread  of  my 
own  footsteps.  I  was  always  glad  when  I  went  back 
toward  the  right,  and  met  the  regular  returning  on  his 
beat. 

"  Do  you  see  the  forest  in  front  of  us  twisting  itself 
into  fantastic  shapes  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  replied  Shaf  toe,  staring. 

"  Those  boughs  across  yonder  are  curved  into  the 
outlines  of  a  giant's  face;  those  two  spots  where  the 
moon  is  peeping  through  form  the  eyes,  and  yonder  is  a 
church,  and  yonder  is  something  else  which  I  can't 
exactly  make  out." 

Shaftoe  laughed. 

"  You  can  make  out  enough,"  he  said.  "  Too  much 
imagination,  Henry;  besides,  you  are  thinking  too  hard. 
Don't  do  it.  Just  watch  and  walk,  or  you'll  be  thinking 
and  imagining  yourself  into  a  fever." 

I  quieted  my  fancy  and  the  hours  passed  slowly  on. 
Behind  me  was  only  a  gleam  from  the  fires  and  it  lay 
close  to  the  earth;  now  and  then  little  white  clouds 
sailed  peacefully  between  the  stars  and  me.     In  front 


WITH  THE  VANGUARD  109 

the  forests  remained  sombre  and  black,  and  the  nearest 
trees  holding  out  their  boughs,  like  weapons,  threatened. 
The  idea  that  Shaftoe  and  I  were  alone  with  the  uni- 
verse still  gripped  me.  Another  rabbit  leaped  out  of 
the  woods  and  scurried  by,  almost  brushing  my  foot. 

"  Either  that  was  a  very  bold  or  a  very  scared  rab- 
bit! "  I  said  to  myself. 

Like  its  predecessors  it  fled  northward. 

Presently  there  was  a  rustling  heavier  than  that 
of  a  rabbit  in  the  thicket  before  me.  I  cocked  my 
rifle.  A  deer  came  out  of  the  brush  and,  stopping  ab- 
ruptly, looked  at  me  with  great,  frightened  eyes.  It 
panted  and  its  flanks  were  hot  with  steam;  evidently  it 
had  been  running  far  and  fast,  and  the  terror  of  pursuit 
was  upon  it. 

"  Poor  devil!  "  I  thought.  "  What  hunter  has  been 
chasing  you  at  this  hour  of  the  night?  "  Then  I  said 
meditatively:  "Why  should  we  shoot  deer  now  when 
there's  bigger  game  afoot?  " 

I  could  easily  have  put  a  bullet  between  the  eyes  of 
the  scared  animal,  but  I  had  no  desire  to  do  so;  my 
feeling  was  sympathetic,  instead. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Deer,"  I  said;  "  don't  be  afraid  of  me. 
I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you." 

The  deer  gazed  at  me  a  moment  or  two  longer  with 
frightened  eyes,  and  then  skimming  by  was  gone  like  a 
ghost. 

It  fled  northward  in  the  path  of  the  rabbits. 

I  noticed  the  fact  and  wondered. 

"How  long  until  day?"  I  asked  the  regular  when 
next  we  met. 

"  The  four  longest  hours  of  the  night,"  replied 
Shaftoe.  "  Take  it  easy;  you'll  have  a  whole  Sunday  to 
sleep  and  rest  in." 

I  decided  to  practise  the  veteran's  philosophy,  and 
walked  more  slowly,  while  my  thoughts  wandered 
vaguely  into  worlds  unknown.     A  gleam  appeared  in 


HO  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  forest,  it  was  only  a  firefly  and  was  gone;  a  second 
gleam,  it  was  but  the  rotten  wood  which  sometimes 
glows  like  a  coal  in  the  southern  wilderness.  Time 
passed  and  I  saw  far  in  the  forest  another  light  which 
flashed  a  little  longer  than  the  rest.  I  called  to  Shaf- 
toe,  who  watched  it  until  it  faded. 

"  A  firefly,  a  glowworm,  or  something  of  that  kind," 
said  the  veteran,  and  walked  on  unconcerned. 

But  my  mind  remained  unquiet.  My  imagination, 
which  I  had  kept  in  subjection  for  a  little  while,  rose  up, 
more  powerful  than  ever;  I  saw  lights  where  lights 
were  not,  and  I  feared  that  I  did  not  see  them  where 
they  were.  Once  I  was  sure  that  I  heard  a  sound  like 
the  clank  of  a  cannon  wheel,  and  the  tread  of  many 
men  marching,  but  I  laughed  at  myself  for  such  fancies, 
believing  that  I  was  under  the  spell  of  the  forest  and 
the  wilderness,  which  takes  a  man  by  the  throat  and 
turns  him  into  a  fanciful  child.  I  had  just  heard  Shaf- 
toe  say  so;  and  the  regular,  out  of  his  vast  experience, 
ought  to  know. 

The  wind  was  now  in  my  face,  still  moaning,  but 
was  as  warm  as  June  to  the  touch,  and  heavy  with  the 
promise  of  sunshine  and  rich  summer.  I  had  always 
loved  the  fields  and  the  forest,  and  I  liked  now  to  think 
of  myself  wading  knee-deep  through  the  green  grass, 
while  on  the  horizon  line  the  peach  trees  and  the 
apple  trees  in  new  bloom  shone  in  cones  of  pink  and 
white. 

"  It's  the  vanguard  of  summer  and  it's  getting  into 
my  blood,"  I  said  to  Shaftoe,  when  the  veteran  came 
once  more. 

"  Strikes  me  that  way  too,"  replied  the  regular; 
"makes  me  feel  as  if  I  were  only  fifteen  again.  But 
one  can  not  trust  this  Southern  spring;  it's  full  of 
treachery.  Anyway,  I'm  going  to  take  a  long  sleep 
when  I  go  off  duty,  and  day  is  pretty  near  now,  for 
which  I'm  thankful." 


WITH  THE  VANGUARD  m 

He  straightened  himself  up  and  walked  springily 
along,  thinking,  I  was  sure,  of  the  rest  and  sleep  that 
were  soon  to  be  his.  I  was  not  so  fresh,  and  my  steps 
dragged  a  little  as  I  turned  for  the  four  hundredth  time 
and  walked  away.  I  looked  toward  the  east,  and,  see- 
ing a  tinge  of  gray  over  the  crest  of  a  distant  hill,  re- 
joiced at  the  sign  that  my  night's  work  was  about  to 
end.  The  gray  turned  to  silver  and  the  edge  of  the 
silver  to  pink,  but  my  eyes  wandered  back  to  the 
forest,  which  I  watched  because  it  was  in  front  of 
me.  The  camp  behind  me  was  still  quiet;  the  regular 
breathing  of  many  men  coming  like  the  murmur  of 
a  river. 

The  dusk  shredded  away  a  little  and  the  trunks  of 
the  trees  rising  out  of  the  mist  stood  in  rows  like  col- 
umns, but  the  thickets,  which  grew  where  the  trees  were 
not,  were  still  black  and  impenetrable. 

I  heard  a  noise  which  I  would  have  sworn  in  the 
day  was  the  clank  of  metal,  but  in  the  misty  dawn  I 
disbelieved  my  ears.  I  stopped,  and  when  I  walked  on 
the  noise  was  repeated.  I  tried  to  pierce  the  thickets 
with  my  eyes,  and  they  were  met  by  the  flash  of  steel.  I 
laughed  aloud.  My  eyes  were  growing  as  untrue  as  my 
ears,  and  while  one  heard  the  unreal  the  other  saw  the 
same.  They  were  entering  into  a  conspiracy  against 
me,  for  a  sound  as  of  a  command  given  came  from 
the  forest,  and  then  once  more  that  tread  of  many 
feet.  And  there,  too,  was  that  flash  of  steel  again! 
If  a  conspiracy  between  eye  and  ear,  it  was  well  main- 
tained! 

I  stopped,  and  grew  cold  from  head  to  foot.  Neither 
sights  nor  sounds  ceased;  the  unreal  might  be  the  real, 
and  fact  may  have  come  disguised  as  fancy!  I  was 
about  to  call  to  Shaftoe,  whose  figure  was  approaching 
in  the  filmy  gray  of  the  dawn,  but  suddenly  a  wild,  ter- 
rible shout  from  countless  throats  arose. 

I  knew  it,  the  long-drawn,  high-pitched  cry,  copied 


112  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

perhaps  from  the  Indian  war  whoop,  the  fierce  "  rebel 
yell."  It  swelled  in  tremendous  volume,  filling  my 
ears  and  all  the  air,  and  echoing  far  across  the  river 
and  hills. 

The  next  instant  an  army  of  forty  thousand  men 
rose  up  from  the  forests  and  thickets  and  threw  itself 
upon  me. 


CHAPTER   XIII 


THE    UNBIDDEN    GUEST 


It  seemed  to  my  dazzled  eyes  that  I  was  to  be  over- 
whelmed in  the  next  breath,  that  I  alone  was  the  aim 
of  the  entire  Southern  army,  hurled  at  me  thus  like  a 
single  huge  cannon  ball.  I  stood  for  a  moment  without 
motion.  The  "rebel  yell,"  poured  from  so  many  throats, 
was  still  ringing  in  my  ears  and  filling  all  the  forest 
with  its  menace.  As  far  as  I  could  see  reached  the  flash 
of  steel,  and  a  moving  line  of  rifle  muzzles  and  bayonet 
points  as  thick  as  a  hedge  confronted  me.  Behind  these 
appeared  the  faces  of  the  men  in  row  on  row,  seeming 
to  rise  above  each  other  like  a  terrace,  as  the  attacking 
army  rushed  on.  The  crackle  of  rifles  swelled  to  the 
left  and  right,  and  the  dawn  sputtered  with  flame.  The 
battle  had  begun. 

I  fired  my  own  weapon  at  the  wall  of  faces  that  was 
rushing  down  upon  me,  and  sprang  back,  shouting  the 
alarm.  I  looked  for  Shaftoe  with  that  instinctive  feel- 
ing of  reliance  which  caused  me  to  turn  to  him  in  such 
emergencies,  and  the  regular  was  there. 

"  Back  upon  the  camp,  Henry! "  he  shouted. 
"  They've  caught  our  army  over  the  coffee  cups,  and  we 
must  give  to  the.  first  rush." 

It  was  obvious,  even  to  the  untried,  that  nothing 
else  could  be  done  if  we  would  save  ourselves  from 
being  swept  out  of  existence,  and  backward  we  sped  like 
corks  before  a  wave.     I  was  still  in  a  sort  of  daze.     This 

113 


114  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

apparition  of  a  great  and  hostile  army  rising  up,  as 
if  from  the  earth  itself,  struck  me  with  such  surprise 
that  I  could  not  recover  at  once,  especially  with  immi- 
nent danger  pressing  so  hard  upon  me,  and  the  thunder 
of  so  many  feet  in  my  ears.  It  was  a  time  to  try  the 
boldest. 

A  terrible  tumult  rose  in  the  camp  of  our  army,  to 
which  the  dawn  of  a  Sunday  had  brought  such  a  sudden 
and  unbidden  guest;  the  officers  shouted  commands, 
the  men  rushed  to  arms,  and  some  began  to  fire  scatter- 
ing shots  into  the  advancing  waves  of  the  assailing 
force.  It  was  a  turmoil,  a  medley  of  fire,  and  steel, 
and  shouting  men,  and  unheard  orders,  and  rattling 
rifles,  and  always  sweeping  down  upon  us  the  Southern- 
ers; a  wave  crested  with  bayonets.  "We  stopped  for  a 
moment  in  a  little  clump  of  bushes,  while  past  us, 
driven  on  from  behind,  surged  the  remnants  of  five 
companies,  sent  out  to  reconnoitre  at  daybreak,  and 
first  to  feel  the  shock  of  the  Southern  charge.  They 
had  been  driven  backward  at  once,  and  when  they 
would  give  warning  of  the  danger,  that  danger  came 
with  them. 

The  Southern  line  began  to  fire,  rank  after  rank, 
the  rattle  of  the  rifles  rose  to  a  fierce  and  unbroken 
crash,  and  a  leaden  sleet  beat  upon  the  confused  camp, 
decimating  the  men  who  were  trying  to  form  for  battle, 
strewing  the  ground  with  dead  and  wounded,  sweeping 
down  the  tents,  and  adding  to  the  confusion  which  at- 
tends a  surprise — and  most  of  all,  a  surprise  at  day- 
break, when  the  men  are  just  rising  from  sleep  and 
the  senses  are  dull.  The  yell  of  the  Southerners  swelled 
and  fell  once  and  again,  but  over  it  now  rose  the  crash 
of  the  rifle  fire  and  the  wheet-wheet!  of  the  bullets. 
Nothing  was  more  vivid  in  my  ear  than  the  noise  made 
by  the  passage  of  these  bullets,  which  rushed  by  in  such 
a  stream  that  the  air  seemed  to  be  filled  with  them. 
Then  a  deeper  thunder  joined,  as  the  field  artillery — the 


THE  UNBIDDEN  GUEST  115 

twelve-pound  Napoleons — began  to  fire,  and  the  sweep 
of  their  balls  formed  the  bass  chorus  for  the  shriller 
note  of  the  bullets. 

"  Oh,  for  earthworks,  intrenchments,  and  we'd  hold 
'em  off  yet!  "  groaned  the  regular. 

"  I  don't  mind  a  battle,  but  I  don't  like  being  rushed 
into  it  before  it's  due,"  I  gasped. 

Shaftoe  laughed. 

"  That  reminds  me  that  it's  no  time  for  either  of 
us  to  complain,"  he  said. 

Clouds  of  smoke  rolling  up  in  languid  waves  rose 
over  the  forest,  and  gathered  in  a  thick  veil  between  the 
earth  and  the  skies  beyond  it,  which  were  now  suffused 
with  the  morning  sun.  But  beneath  it  there  was  an 
ominous  brightness;  a  brightness,  too,  made  ruddy  by 
the  incessant  blaze  of  the  rifles  and  heavy  guns.  The 
stricken  army  struggled  and  writhed  in  its  pain,  and 
bleeding  already  from  many  wounds,  sought  to  gather 
itself  together  and  hit  back  at  its  enemy.  It  seemed 
to  us  that  the  whole  world  was  pouring  upon  us  in 
one  avalanche  seeking  to  blot  us  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.  We  beheld  our  dead  scattered  through  all  the 
woods  before  us.  The  sight  afflicted  us;  many  of  our 
men  cursed  their  officers  for  allowing  us  to  be  surprised. 
Some,  untried,  raw,  were  overcome  by  panic,  and  joined 
the  stream  of  wounded  that  poured  back  toward  the 
shelter  of  the  river  bank,  telling  strange  tales  of  what 
they  had  seen  and  suffered.  But  the  vast  majority,  even 
in  those  moments  of  terror  when  Nature  said  "  run,"  re- 
membered their  duty  and  strove  to  do  it  in  the  face  of 
death  and  defeat.  Companies  formed,  and  as  soon  as 
they  formed  were  swept  down  by  the  flood  of  the  South- 
ern army  and  the  battle  knew  them  no  more.  Officers 
dragged  their  men  into  line  until  they  themselves  were 
slain  by  rifle  and  cannon  balls;  but  whatever  officers 
and  men  did,  however  bravely  they  fought,  the  great 
wave  of  fire  and  smoke  bearing  down  upon  us  and  pour- 


116  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

ing  out  death  rolled  on.  It  burst  upon  the  camp,  over- 
throwing men  and  tents,  sweeping  everything  before 
it  in  a  wild  rout,  a  line  of  lead  and  steel  that  nothing 
could  withstand.  Some  of  the  fallen  tents  caught  fire, 
and  the  boughs  of  the  trees,  despite  their  spring  fresh- 
ness and  the  dampness  of  previous  rains,  sparkled  into 
flames,  lighting  up  the  dawn  with  a  new  and  redder 
light.  Horses  broke  loose  from  their  pickets  and  gal- 
loped up  and  down  in  terror,  some  wounded,  all  neigh- 
ing a  wild,  shrill  neigh  that  had  more  of  pain  in  it  than 
the  cry  of  man.  The  thunder  of  the  battle  deepened, 
and  with  it  the  confusion. 

After  the  first  shock  of  surprise,  the  resistance  in 
our  army  began  to  grow.  The  earliest  groups  of  men 
that  formed  were  scattered,  and  the  Southern  troops 
passed  over  the  places  where  they  had  stood;  but  the 
later  bodies  showed  more  cohesion,  and,  though  swept 
back,  did  not  break;  they  began  to  unite  with  each 
other  by  and  by,  and  to  form  companies  and  regiments 
and  long  battle  lines,  and  to  oppose  with  an  angry  front 
the  powerful  army  that  had  been  launched  at  us  like  a 
catapult.  They  seized  every  hillock  as  a  post,  and  de- 
fended the  crossing  of  every  gully,  clinging  to  a  second 
position  when  they  lost  the  first. 

The  Southern  army  rushed,  a  victor,  through  our 
camp,  and,  knowing  already  what  "it  was  to  go  unfed, 
was  amazed  at  the  plenty  it  saw  there.  Soldiers  who 
were  half  starved,  and  thinking  the  victory  sure,  sud- 
denly remembered  their  stomachs,  and  began  to  eat 
the  breakfast  cooked  by  the  Northern  army,  served 
now  to  the  unbidden  guest,  our  foe.  Boys,  like  our  own, 
they  began  to  rejoice  hugely  in  their  triumph  and  their 
captured  food.  Meanwhile  the  battle  rolled  on  toward 
the  Tennessee.  The  main  part  of  both  armies  was  still 
fighting,  and  the  loss  of  the  stragglers  did  not  diminish 
the  torrents  of  metal  which  swept  the  field. 

I   began   to   recover   my    clearness    of   mind,    and 


THE  UNBIDDEN  GUEST  117 

grasped  the  facts  that  I  saw,  meanwhile  keeping  close  to 
Shaftoe,  who,  though  a  private,  loomed  suddenly  in  my 
opinion  one  of  the  most  important  men  in  the  field,  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  wisest,  and  a  figure  to  whom  it  would 
be  well  to  cling. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  I  asked,  shouting  to  make  my 
voice  heard  above  the  roar.  "We  had  lost  our  own  regi- 
ment. 

"We'll  join  Sherman,  who  is  standing  firm  across 
yonder,  and  after  that  we'll  do  whatever  the  rebels  will 
let  us  do,"  replied  Shaftoe,  in  the  same  tone. 

Sherman  and  his  command,  who  still  held  the 
ground  upon  which  they  stood,  were  some  distance  be- 
hind the  little  church  of  Shiloh,  and  we  ran  toward  his 
solid  body  of  troops,  wishing  to  join  that  portion  of  the 
army  which  was  the  firmest.  But  we  were  compelled 
to  make  our  way  through  the  line  of  fire,  and  my  won- 
der that  I  had  not  been  hit  was  great,  since  the  shower 
of  bullets  seemed  to  me  to  increase  in  thickness,  and 
their  whistling  rose  to  a  sound  that  resembled  the 
scream  of  a  hurricane.  The  air  was  full  of  falling 
twigs  and  boughs  clipped  from  the  trees  by  this  hail  of 
lead  and  steel,  and  once  a  tree,  cut  through  at  the 
trunk  by  cannon  balls,  fell  with  a  great  crash  across  our 
path.  But  we  leaped  over  and  ran  on,  coming  to  the 
crossing  of  a  gully  which  was  defended  by  a  squad  of 
men  in  blue.  An  officer  was  swearing  at  them  with 
energy  and  profusion;  a  cannon  ball  stopped  his  oaths 
and  his  life  at  the  same  moment.  The  men  hesitated, 
but  when  the  tallest  among  them  said  something  which 
I  failed  to  hear,  they  settled  back  in  their  places  and 
turned  their  faces  to  the  enemy. 

"Don't  you  know  those  men?  "  shouted  Shaftoe  to 
me.  "  That's  the  drunken  squad,  the  lot  of  Ken- 
tuckians  whom  you  saw  put  into  the  guardhouse  the 
other  morning  for  diminishing  the  visible  supply  of 
whisky.     The  tall  one  who  was  talking  is  Sibley,  and 


118  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

I  should  be  surprised  if  they  were  not  at  least  half 
drunk  now.  It's  a  pity,  too;  there's  some  first-class 
raw  material  there.  The  cloth  is  good,  but  it  was 
spoiled  in  the  making.  Down  for  your  life!  There 
comes  a  volley." 

He  pulled  me  to  my  knees  behind  some  rocks  just 
in  time.  I  heard  the  bullets  over  our  heads,  and  we  lay 
there  awhile  not  daring  to  face  the  shower.  We  were 
at  the  edge  of  a  gully,  and  only  a  few  feet  below  us 
stood  the  drunken  squad.  We  could  hear  every  word 
that  was  said. 


CHAPTEE   XIV 

i 

THE    DRUNKEN    SQUAD'S   LAST    STAND 

The  disgraced  Kentuckians,  about  twenty  in  num- 
ber, were  at  the  head  of  the  gully.  Sibley  had  taken 
only  three  drinks  that  morning,  the  attack  coming  too 
early  for  his  arrangements,  and  his  head  was  compara- 
tively clear.  He  saw  a  dense  mass  of  the  enemy  press- 
ing up  the  ravine,  which  was  wider  at  the  far  end,  and 
it  must  have  reminded  him  of  Buena  Vista,  where  the 
foe  was  five  to  one  and  the  Americans  yet  won. 

I  knew  those  men,  and  I  knew  that  a  battle  song 
was  singing  in  the  ears  of  Sibley — the  chant  of  genera- 
tions. His  forefathers  had  fought  the  Indians  and  the 
English,  almost  without  ceasing,  and  he,  having  fought 
for  his  country  in  war  and  himself  in  peace,  had  no 
mind  to  shun  the  fighting  now,  when  it  was  pressed 
upon  him,  and  would  not  be  denied.  He  cocked  his 
rifle  and  fired  into  the  gray  of  the  advancing  Southern 
regiment.  Then  some  one  pulled  at  his  arm.  It  was 
the  boy  Masters,  who  in  the  heat  of  a  permanent  admira- 
tion imitated  his  virtues  and  his  vices,  particularly  the 
latter. 

"  They'll  walk  over  us,"  said  the  boy,  pointing  to 
the  gray  mass  in  front.  "  Our  captain's  killed,  and 
what  shall  we  do?  " 

"  Yes,  Billy,  he's  killed;  but  he  told  us  to  hold  this 
gully,  and  we  needn't  disobey  him  because  he's  dead." 

The  boy  made  no  reply,  but  pushing  himself  up  by 

119 


120  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Sibley's  side  fired  at  the  Southern  force.  The  rest  of 
the  twenty  imitated  his  example.  They  were  not  a 
pretty  lot;  there  was  Congdon,  a  tall,  raw-boned,  loose- 
jointed  mountaineer,  who  spoke  in  dialect  and  stole 
his  comrades'  rations;  and  Purvis,  of  Maysville,  whose 
chief  virtue  was  silence;  and  Walker,  famed  for  laziness; 
and  Williams,  of  Louisville,  who  was  not  much  older 
than  Masters;  and  Clymer,  of  Paducah,  who  was  the 
oldest  of  them  all,  and  others  of  the  same  type,  gaunt, 
brown,  and  long,  all  united  by  the  two  great  common 
bonds — love  of  whisky  and  hatred  of  work. 

"  Come  boys,"  said  Sibley,  "  you  can  all  shoot;  now 
show  it ! " 

Twenty  rifles  poured  a  deadly  volley  into  the  ad- 
vancing mass,  which  staggered  and  fell  back,  leaving 
a  cluster  of  fallen,  but  recovering  itself  came  on  again. 
The  twenty  meanwhile  reloaded  rapidly  and  continued 
their  own  little  battle,  content  with  it  and  oblivious  of 
the  wider  one  that  raged  around  them. 

Never  before  had  the  twenty  shown  so  much  skill 
with  the  rifle,  never  before  had  they  handled  their  long- 
barrelled  weapons  with  such  speed,  and  never  before 
had  they  sent  their  bullets  straighter  to  the  mark. 
Jets  of  flame  leaped  from  each  muzzle,  and  the  stream 
of  lead  sent  into  the  advancing  masses  kept  up  an 
unbroken  song.  Their  faces  grew  red  with  the  fever 
of  combat,  and  they  drew  quick  breaths.  The  barrels 
of  their  rifles,  fired  so  often,  burned  at  the  touch. 

The  general  conflict  deepened  in  intensity  and 
tumult  as  the  Northern  army  came  more  and  more  into 
action.  Sherman's  division  held  fast  to  the  ground 
around  the  little  church  of  Shiloh,  sinking  its  feet 
there,  and  refusing  to  yield  to  the  torrent  of  bullets 
and  cannon  balls  that  beat  upon  it  and  broke  gaps  in 
its  ranks,  closed  up  immediately  after  by  the  living. 
The  thick  smoke  gathered  against  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
through  which  the  sun  came  only  in  pale  rays,  and 


THE  DRUNKEN  SQUAD'S  LAST  STAND         121 

under  which  men  fought  with  furious  energy  in  the 
half  light.  The  thunder  of  the  cannonade  was  unceas- 
ing, though  it  rose  and  fell  in  volume;  but  the  minor 
note,  the  shrill  and  more  spiteful  crash  of  the  small 
arms,  was  as  steady  as  the  sweep  of  a  prairie  wind. 
Save  in  front  of  Sherman  it  was  a  series  of  combats, 
waged  by  regiment  against  regiment,  company  against 
company,  and  man  against  man,  a  long,  uncertain  line 
of  battle,  winding,  intermingling,  and  without  plan. 
They  met  and  fought  in  the  dark  and  smoky  woods, 
over  hills,  down  gullies,  tangled  in  thickets  and  among 
the  trees,  and  the  impartial  cannon  balls  swept  down 
bushes,  trees,  and  men  alike. 

Meanwhile  Shaftoe  and  I  clung  to  the  shelter  of 
our  rocks.  I  started  to  rise  once,  but  he  pulled  me 
down. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool!  "  he  said.  "  You  would  be  killed 
before  you  could  draw  three  breaths.  Save  yourself. 
It's  the  right  thing  to  do.     You  will  be  needed." 

I  obeyed. 

Sibley,  who  felt  only  the  heat  of  battle,  marked 
the  regiment  that  was  advancing  upon  his  comrades 
and  himself. 

"  Down  upon  your  faces! "  he  cried;  "  they  are 
about  to  fire! " 

All  the  twenty  threw  themselves  flat,  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  front  line  of  the  enemy  burst  into 
flame.  The  crackle  of  the  rifles  was  lost  in  the  thunder 
of  the  battle  that  rolled  incessantly  around  them,  but 
Sibley  and  his  comrades  heard  the  whiz  of  the  bullets 
as  they  flew  like  a  swarm  of  disappointed  bees  over 
their  heads. 

"  Now,  up,  boys!  "  he  cried,  "  and  let  'em  have  it!  " 

The  battle  fever  was  surging  in  his  veins  and  heat- 
ing his  brain,  and  always  the  boy  Masters,  with  a  face 
as  red  as  Sibley's  own,  was  fighting  at  his  elbow.  I 
watched  them  both. 


122  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

The  men  sprang  to  their  feet,  all  except  one,  who  lay 
crouched,  with  his  eyes  to  the  enemy. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  that  drunken  fool  John- 
son?    Why  don't  he  get  up?"  asked  Sibley. 

"  He  can't;  he's  got  a  bullet  through  his  skull,"  re- 
plied Congdon,  the  mountaineer,  with  commendable 
calmness. 

"  It's  just  as  well;  his  face  is  to  the  enemy,"  said 
Sibley.  Then  he  gave  again  the  order  to  fire.*  All 
their  rifles  crashed  at  once.  Marksmanship  was  one 
among  the  small  set  of  virtues  owned  by  these  men;  the 
front  line  of  the  attacking  force  reeled  back  before  such 
a  well-aimed  volley,  and  the  dark  objects  lying  in  the 
weeds  before  it  showed  that  the  bullets  had  sped  true. 

"  Hurrah! "  shouted  Sibley;  "  that  took  the  sand 
out  of  their  gizzards!  " 

A  volley  from  the  second  Southern  rank  flew  over 
the  head  of  the  first  and  into  the  twenty.  Five  men 
fell.  Two  rose  again;  one  of  the  two  was  bleeding 
from  a  bad  wound  in  the  shoulder  and  turned  pale. 

"  Captain,"  he  said  to  Sibley,  applying  to  him  the 
term  which  was  familiar  in  our  State,  and  not  always 
a  mark  of  rank,  "  I  got  it  hot  and  hard  in  the  shoulder 
and  it's  time  for  me  to  hunt  a  hospital." 

"  Hospital  the  devil!  "  said  Sibley.  "  Don't  you  see 
the  enemy  coming?  " 

The  man  said  nothing  more,  but  began  to  reload  his 
rifle.     The  boy  Masters  fired,  and  shrieked  with  joy. 

"  I  got  one!  I  got  one! "  he  cried.  His  face 
writhed  with  delight. 

Sibley  patted  him  approvingly  on  the  shoulder. 
The  fighting  blood  in  the  boy  evidently  found  a  re- 
sponse in  the  kindred  blood  of  the  older  man. 

"  You're  going  to  make  a  soldier,  Billy,"  he  said. 

Then  Masters  forgot  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
danger. 

"  Maybe  they'll  turn  back,"  said  Clymer. 


THE  DRUNKEN  SQUAD'S  LAST  STAND        123 

Sibley  frowned  at  him.  The  speech  was  untimely 
and  inappropriate. 

"  Turn  back?  not  from  the  gates  of  hell!  They're 
our  own  blood,  and  the  hinges  of  their  backbones  are 
not  oiled!  We  mustn't  forget  one  thing  or  we'll  never 
win  this  war,  and  it's  that  the  Johnny  Eebs  are  as 
good  as  we  are.  I  came  mighty  near  being  a  Johnny 
Eeb  myself.  There's  my  brother  Abner,  he's  one.  Ab- 
ner  and  I  could  never  get  along  together.  When  the 
war  came  on  I  said  to  Abner,  '  Which  army  are  you 
going  to  join?'  'The  Southern,  of  course,'  he  said. 
'  All  right,'  says  I;  '  then  I'm  going  to  join  the  North- 
ern army,'  and  join  it  I  did  the  very  next  day.  Nothing 
but  brother  Abner's  stubbornness  kept  the  South  from 
getting  a  mighty  good  soldier.  Don't  you  fool  your- 
self, the  Eebs  will  keep  coming." 

"  Then  it's  time  to  take  a  drink,"  said  Clymer. 

He  produced  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  three  or  four 
others  doing  the  same,  and  all  drank  from  them,  deeply, 
unctuously,  and  as  a  tribute  of  respect  to  the  valour  of 
the  advancing  foe.  The  blood  flew  to  their  brains  and 
their  courage  flamed  up.  They  saw  many  enemies,  but 
their  veins  blazed  with  Homeric  fire.  They  were  only 
a  lot  of  loafers,  worthless  in  peace,  but  courage  was  their 
pocket  piece,  and  they  were  ready  to  face  armies. 

"How  the  battle  grows!  Just  listen  to  the  shells 
and  the  song  they  sing!  "  cried  Sibley. 

The  combat  curved  on  either  side  of  them  in  a  red 
whirlwind. 

Their  immediate  enemy  halted  a  little  as  if  choosing 
between  ways,  and  the  men  took  breath.  More  artillery 
rapidly  came  into  action  on  either  side,  and  now  the 
dominant  note  of  the  battle — the  sibilant  song  of  all 
great  battles — the  screaming  of  the  shells  and  shrapnel 
was  heard  rising  above  everything,  over  the  thunder  of 
the  cannon  as  they  were  discharged,  over  the  rattle  of 
the  rifles,  the  shouts  of  the  men,  the  cries  of  the 
9 


124  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

wounded,  the  neighing  of  the  horses,  the  clank  of  mov- 
ing wheels,  and  the  tread  of  the  charging  brigades, 
drowning  everything  else,  singing  their  terrible  song, 
filling  the  ears  of  the  soldiers,  and  whistling  through 
the  forest  with  all  the  rage  and  force  of  a  storm. 

The  boy  Masters  was  affected  and  quivered.  His 
face  became  pale.  The  flame  of  the  cannon  fell  upon 
it  and  showed  its  leaden  hue. 

"  It's  all  right,  Billy,"  said  Sibley,  protectingly. 
"  It's  not  a  pretty  song;  it  doesn't  tell  of  cool  water 
and  green  grass,  but  I've  known  worse." 

"  They're  getting  ready  to  give  us  another  volley," 
said  Purvis.     "  I  think  we'd  better  drop." 

A  piece  of  shrapnel,  whistling  with  heat  and  speed, 
struck  him  between  the  eyes  and  he  fell  without  a  word. 
I  was  glad  on  Billy's  account  that  he  fell  face  down- 
ward. 

"  He'd  have  been  a  good  soldier;  he's  earned  his  six 
feet  of  earth,"  said  Sibley,  as  they  rose  after  the  volley. 
But  the  twenty  had  been  reduced  to  fifteen.  Williams, 
the  Louisville  man,  was  pouring  out  a  stream  of  rich 
and  unctuous  oaths.  A  bullet  had  nipped  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  the  wound  stung. 

"Come,  come,  Williams!"  said  Sibley;  "you're  in 
luck!  A  hundred  thousand  rebels  after  you  and  able  to 
give  you  only  a  flea-bite.  If  you  curse  so  much  for  a 
little  thing  like  that,  what  would  you  say  if  you  had  a 
leg  or  two  shot  off?  " 

A  shell  screaming  in  its  flight  passed  over  their 
heads,  and  all  bowed  to  it. 

"  We'll  give  the  right  of  way  every  time  to  as  much 
iron  as  that,"  joyously  exclaimed  Sibley,  in  whose  head 
the  blood  and  fever  of  battle  was  rising  higher  and  still 
higher.     "  What  are  you  doing  there,  Congdon?  " 

"  Sharpshooting." 

The  long,  slim  mountaineer  was  lying  upon  the 
ground,  his  slender,  flexible  form  seeming  to  accommo- 


THE  DRUNKEN  SQUAD'S  LAST  STAND         125 

date  itself  to  every  rock  and  bump,  and  to  coil  around  it 
like  a  serpent.  His  eyes  were  glittering  with  ferocious 
joy  as  he  looked  down  the  sights  of  his  rifle  and  picked 
his  target.  He  was  like  an  Indian  triumphantly  stalk- 
ing his  victim. 

"  By  the  Lord,  it's  bushwhacking! "  cried  Sibley. 
"  You  mountaineers  can't  help  it;  you  were  born  to 
it.  What  else  could  you  expect  from  a  man  from 
Breathitt  County,   Kentucky?  " 

Sibley  and  his  little  force  occupied  a  good  position, 
and  with  true  military  spirit  they  made  the  most  of  it, 
inflicting  a  heavy  loss  upon  the  advancing  enemy  and 
deranging  his  plans.  Wherefore,  they,  the  gully's  de- 
fenders, became  important.  It  was  a  detached  little 
battle  waged  with  an  energy  and  fire  of  great  pressure 
to  the  square  inch,  and  the  Southerners  paused  merely 
to  consider  the  best  plan  of  attack.  This  obstacle  an- 
noyed them,  and  they  would  sweep  it  out  of  the  way. 
The  Kentuckians  saw  them  stop,  and  the  little  band's 
shout  of  triumph  was  heard  for  a  moment  amid  the 
sound  of  the  shells — a  human  note  that  defied  ri- 
valry. Sibley  had  all  sorts  of  courage,  natural,  Dutch, 
and  otherwise,  fused  this  morning  into  a  sparkling 
tonic,  and  he  sprang  upon  the  highest  rock. 

"Come  on!"  he  shouted  to  the  enemy.  "We  are 
here  giving  a  dinner,  and  there  are  plates  for  you. 
Why  don't  you  come?" 

Williams  grasped  him  by  the  legs  and  pulled  him 
down  at  the  crest  of  an  oratorical  flight,  a  dozen  bullets 
whistling  the  next  instant  where  his  head  had  been, 
and  lamenting  in  intelligible  tones  its  disappearance. 
They  did  not  know  its  hardness. 

"You'll  get  yourself  killed!  "  shouted  Williams. 

"  What  of  it?  "  replied  Sibley.  "  There's  supposed 
to  be  a  slight  risk  in  war." 

Then  the  survivors  renewed  the  combat  with  fresh 
energy    and   passion.     They    sheltered    themselves    as 


126  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

much  as  the  gully  would  permit,  creeping  forward  in 
their  zeal  to  meet  the  enemy,  and  always  they  sent  their 
bullets  into  his  close  ranks. 

While  they  fought  the  battle  spread,  detached  bat- 
tles joining  and  forming  into  a  great  whole  that  blazed 
and  thundered  and  swayed  back  and  forth.  The  line 
of  fire  on  either  side  of  the  Kentuckians  came  nearer. 
Shells  and  shrapnel,  not  aimed  at  them  nor  fired  by  their 
immediate  foe,  flew  over  their  heads.  The  columns  of 
smoke  rolled  up  like  the  waves  of  a  flood,  and  thickened 
and  darkened.  The  blaze  of  the  firing  streamed  through 
it  in  countless  flashes.  The  trees  burned;  millions  of 
sparks  flashed  in  the  air. 

"  It's  growing  warm,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  Billy;  and  don't  forget  that  it  can  grow 
warmer,"  replied  Sibley. 

"  They're  coming  again,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  Billy,  but  we'll  give  'em  the  same  old  wel- 
come," replied  Sibley. 

Congdon,  still  hugging  the  ground  in  that' frightful 
similitude  of  a  snake,  fired  into  the  Southern  ranks,  and 
cursed  between  his  teeth  because  the  smoke  would  not 
let  him  see  whether  a  man  had  fallen  to  his  bullet. 
Williams  looked  at  the  dense  mass  of  the  enemy  and  felt 
that  the  odds  were  too  great. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  retreat?  "  he  asked  Sibley. 

"  Eetreat!  No!  Maybe  the  fate  of  the  whole  army 
will  depend  upon  our  holding  this  place." 

"  Then  I  will  not  give  an  inch,"  said  Williams.  And 
he  did  not;  for  a  second  later  a  bullet  passed  through  his 
heart  and  he  held  the  ground  upon  which  he  had  stood. 
Two  more  men  fell  before  the  bullets,  and  a  bursting 
shell  killed  another.  All  around  them  the  battle 
whirled  and  thundered. 

The  boy  shivered  again. 

"  Take  a  drink  of  this,  Billy,  and  we'll  win  immortal 
honour  and  glory,"  said  Sibley,  patting  him  on  the 


THE  DRUNKEN  SQUAD'S  LAST  STAND        127 

shoulder  with  one  hand  and  offering  the  flask  with  the 
other. 

The  boy  drank,  and  a  bullet  saved  him  the  trouble 
of  returning  the  flask  by  dashing  it  to  pieces  in  his 
hand. 

"  There  was  nothing  left  in  it;  no  matter,"  said  Sib- 
ley. "  Steady  now,  boys,  and  we'll  beat  the  Spartans  at 
the  old  Greek  what-do-you-call-it  place." 

A  shell  passed  so  near  that  the  rush  of  air  knocked 
him  to  his  knees;  he  was  up  again  in  a  moment,  san- 
guine and  defiant,  and  cheered  on  his  men  as  the  at- 
tack upon  them  grew  fiercer.  Congdon  was  killed  as  he 
hugged  his  rock,  and  he  continued  to  hug  it  in  death. 
A  shell  exploded  among  them  and  slew  four  men.  They 
were  only  seven  now,  and  three  of  the  seven  were 
wounded.  But  Sibley  did  not  notice  it.  He  looked 
straight  ahead. 

"Give  it  to  'em,  my  bullies!"  he  cried.  "We've 
scared  'em  already!  Don't  you  see  they  are  getting 
ready  to  run?  " 

The  flash  of  the  rifles  aimed  at  them  was  very 
near,  and  coming  nearer.  The  bullets  sang  to  right 
and  left,  and  the  shrapnel  flew  overhead.  A  shell 
struck  the  earth  close  to  them  and  covered  Sibley 
with  dirt.  He  cursed  the  shell  from  a  full  and  vivid 
vocabulary. 

"  Clymer  is  killed,"  said  the  boy. 

"Is  he?  That's  not  news  on  a  day  like  this,"  re- 
plied Sibley. 

"We're  only  six,"  said  the  boy,  and  then  he  added: 
"  We're  only  five  now,  for  there  goes  Morton.  The 
shrapnel  did  it." 

"  Hold  the  gully!  "  shouted  Sibley.  "  If  there's  no- 
body else,  you  and  I  will  do  it,  Billy." 

But  the  others  did  not  flinch.  The  fire  of  battle 
was  coursing  through  their  veins,  and  they  saw  red. 
The  chorus  of  the  bullets  and  the  shell  had  become  a 


128  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

familiar  tune.  Their  rifles  replied  with  undiminished 
ardour. 

A  piece  of  shrapnel  struck  the  boy  in  the  shoulder 
and  he  began  to  tremble. 

"  Never  mind,  Billy/'  said  Sibley.  "  It's  only  a 
scratch." 

Billy  went  on  with  his  firing.  There  was  a  duty  to 
be  done  and  no  time  for  trifles.  But  his  eye  and  his 
hand  grew  unsteady.  His  wound  was  worse  than  he  or 
Sibley  would  admit.  The  enemy,  the  hills,  and  the 
flashing  of  the  guns  before  him  made  only  a  red  blur, 
and  an  absent  look  came  over  his  face  as  if  his  mind 
wandered  back  to  the  sheen  and  long,  gentle  roll  of  the 
blue  grass,  with  the  dusty  gold  of  the  sun  floating  over 
it  like  a  tawny  veil. 

"Fire  at  'em  now!"  shouted  Sibley,  and  the  five 
sent  their  bullets  to  the  mark.  An  answering  volley 
came,  and  two  of  the  Kentuckians  fell. 

"  The  company  is  now  small,  but  very  select — eh, 
Thornton?  "  said  Sibley  to  the  third  man.  Sibley  was 
wounded  in  the  neck  and  his  eye  was  wild. 

"  It's  time  to  go,"  said  the  boy,  whose  mind  was 
wandering  further  amid  green  fields  and  through  lus- 
trous sunshine. 

"  No,  Billy,  not  yet;  but  I  think  the  time  for  us  all 
to  go  is  almost  at  hand." 

The  battle  converged  about  them,  hovering  closer 
and  closer,  giving  forth  continuously  its  ominous  cry. 
The  screaming  of  the  shells,  flying  in  showers,  rose  to  a 
pitch  unequalled  before.  It  was  a  fierce,  triumphant 
note,  like  a  storm  shrieking  through  a  ship's  rigging. 
But  the  boy  did  not  hear  it.  He  heard  only  the  trickle 
of  cool  water  among  green  fields  that  he  had  known, 
and  the  hum  of  the  honeybees.  I  watched  his  face,  and 
I  knew. 

"  How  that  artillery  flashes!  Its  blaze  blinds  me," 
said  Sibley.     The  bullets  flew  in  gusts  around  him. 


THE  DRUNKEN  SQUAD'S  LAST  STAND         129 

"  It's  time  to  go,"  said  the  boy.  "  The  corn  is  ripe 
in  the  fields." 

"  Yes,  Billy;  but  the  battle's  only  begun." 

"  Thornton's  killed." 

"  Then,  Billy,  only  you  and  I  are  left.  Close  up, 
and  we'll  win  the  biggest  victory  the  world  has  ever 
known." 

Sibley's  dingy  blue  uniform  was  stained  dark  red  in 
many  places.  His  eyes  saw  through  a  mist.  A  thou- 
sand little  pulses  were  beating  in  the  top  of  his  head. 
The  bullets  pattered  on  the  stones  and  earth  around  the 
two  like  a  hailstorm.  The  boy  was  becoming  weak  and 
his  head  swung  to  one  side,  oscillating  like  a  top. 

"  See  how  the  sun  shines  in  old  Kentucky!  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  it  shines,  Billy.  But  the  rebels  are  coming, 
and  they  are  so  near  I  can  see  their  eyes  shining  too. 
Just  hear  the  bullets  whistle!  " 

"  It's  like  music,  isn't  it?  " 

"  The  music  of  hell!  Hold  up  your  head,  Billy! 
What! — dead!     Poor  boy,  he  died  like  a  hero!  " 

Sibley  was  wounded  in  a  half  dozen  places,  and 
sank  to  his  knees.  He  was  unable  to  reload  his  rifle; 
but  the  little  pulses  were  still  beating  in  the  top  of  his 
head,  the  red  mist  was  yet  there,  and  he  continued  to 
shout  defiance.  Fresh  volleys  swept  the  field,  and  the 
next  moment  no  voice  was  heard  in  the  gully  save  that 
of  the  whistling  bullets. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    SONG   OF   THE    SHELL 

Thus  we  witnessed  the  drunken  squad's  last  stand. 

"  At  least,  they  died  like  brave  men,"  said  Shaftoe. 

"  Was  it  of  any  use ?"I  asked.  "  They  were  mere- 
ly a  bubble  in  the  flood." 

"  Who  knows?  "  replied  the  regular. 

We  pressed  on  in  our  attempt  to  join  Sherman,  who 
alone  had  stood  firm  before  the  first  attack,  and  was 
now  receiving  shock  after  shock  from  increasing  num- 
bers, determined  to  drive  him  back,  as  they  had  driven 
back  the  others.  Bullets  swept  the  field  before  and 
behind  us,  and  over  our  heads  flew  the  shells.  I  had 
felt  a  great  terror  at  first,  but  a  revulsion  came  and  soon 
I  began  to  swell  with  a  foolish  pride  of  indifference. 
Shaftoe  was  on  his  knees,  seeking  the  shelter  of  every 
rock,  and  tree,  and  hillock  that  came  in  his  way.  I  was 
walking  upright.  The  regular  suddenly  seized  me  by 
the  waist  and  dragged  me  down. 

"  I'm  not  a  coward !  "  I  cried  angrily. 

"  No,  but  you're  a  fool,  and  that's  as  bad  or  worse," 
replied  the  regular,  phlegmatically. 

I  made  another  effort  to  rise,  but  he  held  me  back. 

"  Eaw  volunteers  like  you,"  continued  Shaftoe,  in  a 
fatherly  tone,  "  are  always  one  of  two  things:  either  an 
infernal  coward  or  a  regular  Hector.  Usually  they  are 
both  in  the  space  of  an  hour;  and  one  is  as  bad  as  an- 
other. Now,  if  you  are  shot  dead  going  across  this  field, 
130 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SHELL  131 

of  what  use  is  it?  You  are  sent  here  by  your  Govern- 
ment to  get  killed  to  some  purpose.  This  would  be  to 
no  purpose  at  all;  and  you  would  be  a  fraud  upon  your 
country,  taking  her  pay  and  pretending  to  be  killed  in 
her  service,  when  you  give  no  service,  and  get  yourself 
killed  merely  to  gratify  a  boiling  hot  pride  purely  per- 
sonal to  yourself.  Keep  down,  and  try  to  earn  your 
wages  honestly." 

The  regular's  face  was  impassive,  but  I  concluded 
to  take  his  advice,  and  crawl,  instead  of  walk. 

The  ghastly  traces  of  the  battle  thickened  as  we 
advanced.  The  ground  was  covered  with  the  fallen, 
most  of  them  slain  in  isolated  fighting;  some  in  single 
combat.  A  stream  of  wounded,  each  following  the 
other  in  Indian  file,  passed  us  on  their  way  to  the  rear. 
It  was  a  blood-stained  and  halting  line,  but  neither  the 
blood  nor  the  weakness  impressed  me  like  their  silence. 
No  man  uttered  a  word.  Not  a  groan  was  heard.  Grim 
and  unspeaking,  every  one  nursed  his  own  wound,  en- 
during it  without  complaint  and  staggering  on  with  the 
strength  that  was  left  to  him.  It  was  a  solemn  proces- 
sion that  never  ceased. 

"  They  are  becoming  veterans/'  said  Shaftoe,  with 
deep  sympathy,  "  and  they  are  paying  the  price  of 
it."  A  minute  later  we  were  with  Sherman,  behind 
the  little  church  of  Shiloh  and  at  the  heart  of  the 
conflict. 

Few  of  the  Northern  troops  at  this  point  had  ever 
been  in  battle  before,  but  led  by  a  born  general,  one 
who  never  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  could  take  in  a 
battlefield  at  a  glance,  they  set  their  feet  in  the  earth, 
and  resolved  not  to  give  back,  though  the  heap  of  dead 
in  their  front  ranks  grew  fast  and  the  stream  of  wound- 
ed in  the  rear  thickened.  The  places  of  the  dead  and 
the  hurt  were  taken  by  others,  the  debris  of  broken 
brigades,  gathering  instinctively  around  Sherman  as 
the  chief  core  of  resistance. 


132  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

The  Southern  army  seemed  to  understand  that  it 
must  uproot  Sherman  if  it  would  win  fully,  and  in- 
creased its  strokes.  Already  victorious  elsewhere, 
heavy  gun  after  heavy  gun  was  brought  forward,  and 
added  to  the  unceasing  shower  of  iron  and  lead  that 
beat  upon  our  lines,  seeking  to  annihilate  us  and  com- 
plete the  victory. 

"  Now  you  can  fight,  Henry,  and  fight  with  all  your 
might!  "  shouted  the  regular  in  my  ear. 

The  savage  instinct,  that  loves  fighting  because  it 
represents  supreme  physical  force,  rose  steadily  in  me. 
I  forgot  that  I  was  a  civilized  human  being,  and  reload- 
ing my  rifle  I  fired  again  and  again  into  the  gray-coated 
mass.     The  flame  was  in  my  blood. 

Grant  at  Savannah,  nine  miles  away,  heard  the  roar- 
ing of  the  guns  and  arrived  upon  the  field  at  ten  o'clock, 
sending  urgent  messages  to  Nelson  and  Buell  to  hurry 
on.  Noon  came  and  the  sun  shone  over  the  centre  of 
the  earth,  taking  no  note  of  the  battle,  pouring  out  all 
its  rays  of  red  and  gold  in  honour  of  a  fair,  spring  day. 
Those  rays  did  not  pierce  the  canopy  of  smoke  which 
hung  over  the  field  of  Shiloh;  only  a  haze  seeped 
through,  and  we  fought  in  the  twilight  of  a  great  vault, 
of  which  the  earth  was  the  floor  and  the  floating  smoke 
the  roof — a  vault  filled  with  the  shouts  of  men,  the 
roar  of  guns,  and  the  flash  of  the  cannon  and  rifle 
fire.  The  hostile  lines  were  often  hid  from  my  sight 
by  the  rolling  clouds  of  smoke,  which,  caught  by  some 
stray  breeze,  would  lift  presently,  disclosing  again 
the  thousands  of  hot  faces,  the  bayonets,  and  the 
cannon. 

I  began  to  feel  pride  in  both  combatants — the  pride 
of  a  race  and  its  valour.  People  had  talked  of  earlier 
times  when  men  were  braver  and  more  enduring  than 
now,  built  on  a  more  heroic  scale,  but  I  had  never  read 
of  any  battle  in  which  they  fought  more  fiercely  and 
with   steadier   courage   and   endurance   than   the   one 


THE  SONG  OP  THE  SHELL  133 

which  now  swelled  around  me,  and  of  which  I  was  a 
part.  Perhaps  it  was  not  a  thing  for  pride,  neverthe- 
less I  knew  that  all  would  feel  it. 

The  roar  of  detached  combats  to  the  right  and  to  the 
left  came  to  us,  though  subdued  to  a  minor  note  by  the 
thunder  of  our  own,  which  seemed  to  me  to  culminate 
directly  in  our  front.  The  clouds  of  smoke  sank  lower 
and  the  stray  winds  drove  them  into  the  faces  of  one 
and  then  the  other;  the  heavy  sickening  odour  of 
mingled  blood  and  gunpowder  permeated  the  forest, 
and  the  burning  trees  gave  forth  sparks  in  myriads. 
Twisting  columns  and  pyramids  of  smoke  sometimes 
hid  all  but  the  faces  of  our  assailants,  and  at  the  mo- 
ment they  seemed  to  us  to  swing  in  the  air. 

The  dominant  note  of  the  battle  was  still  the  song  of 
the  shell — a  fierce,  triumphant  cry,  more  like  a  shriek — 
an  insistent,  continuous  sound,  shrill,  piercing,  rising 
and  falling  perhaps,  but  never  ceasing  to  drum  upon 
the  ears  of  all  the  eighty  thousand  engaged  in  that 
combat — a  song  that  swept  through  the  oak  woods,  not 
without  a  certain  rhythm  and  music.  It  was  the  deep- 
est impression  made  upon  the  men  who  survived  that 
day  and  the  next — ask  them  and  they  will  tell  you  so — 
the  hissing  of  the  shell  and  the  shrapnel,  the  screaming 
flight  of  the  missile  through  the  air,  its  bursting,  and 
then  the  short,  fierce  buzz  of  the  fragments  of  steel  or 
iron,  or  the  wheet-wheet  of  the  leaden  bullets  from  the 
shrapnel. 

It  was  a  sound  so  full  of  ferocity  and  malignant 
triumph  that  we  who  fought  there  can  never  forget  it. 
I  often  hear  it  echoing  in  my  ears — even  now,  when  the 
rank  grass  and  bushes  have  grown  long  ago  over  the 
lost  skeletons  of  the  slain,  and  peace  and  silence  reign 
again  in  the  Shiloh  woods — as  fierce  and  insistent  as 
ever,  that  old  song  of  the  shell  that  was  sung  when  so 
many  good  men  slew  each  other. 

The  fire  of  the  enemy  sank  without  warning,  the 


134  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

sudden  decrease  of  sound  producing  the  effect  of  silence, 
though  it  was  far  from  being  such. 

"  They  can  not  drive  us  back  now! "  I  cried  joy- 
fully.    "  They  have  given  up !  " 

"  Not  so,"  said  Shaftoe.  "  The  most  dangerous  time 
has  come.     Listen  to  the  trumpets!  " 

Clear  and  full  the  voice  of  the  Southern  trumpets 
rose  above  the  softened  note  of  the  battle,  resounding 
and  joyous,  as  if  there  had  been  nothing  that  day  for 
man  save  pleasure,  calling  the  hunters  to  the  chase. 

"  Can't  you  understand  that? "  asked  Shaftoe. 
"  No  man  ever  spoke  plainer  English.  It  says:  '  Come 
on,  boys,  come  on;  gather  all  your  strength  for  one 
big  rush,  and  we'll  drive  the  Yankees  into  the  river! ' " 
He  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  And  maybe  they'll  do 
it,  too." 

The  face  of  the  regular  was  anxious,  but  it  showed 
some  pride,  too.  The  raw  levies — his  boys,  he  had  called 
those  in  his  own  company — were  acquiring  discipline 
and  steadiness  faster  than  he  had  ever  hoped,  and  the 
sun  would  set  upon  every  one  a  veteran,  if  he  lived. 

The  clouds  of  smoke  lifted,  the  plumes  of  flank 
sank,  the  notes  of  the  trumpet  died,  and  the  long  lines 
of  the  Southern  army  swept  forward  again  among  the 
trees  and  over  the  hillocks  with  their  carpets  of  dead 
and  wounded,  as  if  propelled  by  a  single  hand.  The 
front  of  our  brigades  burst  into  fire,  the  Southern  bat- 
teries replied,  and  once  again  the  shells  and  shrapnel 
filled  the  air.  I  saw  the  enemy  coming  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  in  all  the  activity  of  the  defence  I  never  for- 
got to  watch  their  faces.  I  saw  holes  broken  in  their 
ranks  by  shells,  shrapnel,  and  grapeshot.  Lines  of  men 
were  swept  down  by  the  hail  of  bullets  that  beat  upon 
them.  They  did  not  stop,  nor  did  hesitation  interrupt 
their  onward  rush.  I  realized  that  this  was  the  su- 
preme effort  which  Shaftoe  had  said  was  coming;  and 
as  the  iron  and  lead  fell  upon  the  Southerners  I  won- 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SHELL  135 

dered  how  long  they  could  stand  it,  feeling  at  the  same 
time  a  pride  that  they  stood  it  so  well.  For  were  they 
not  of  my  own  South? 

"  Those  boys  coming  against  us  are  veterans  now!  " 
shouted  Shaftoe  in  my  ear.  "  If  they  cross  that  ravine 
in  front  of  us — well,  we  are  theirs." 

The  Southern  ranks,  terribly  thinned  by  the  fire  of 
the  cannon  and  rifles,  were  almost  at  the  edge  of  the 
ravine,  but,  borne  on  by  physical  and  mental  impetus, 
none  stopped  save  those  who  had  fallen. 

Our  fire  doubled  in  intensity.  The  front  line  of  the 
Southerners  reached  the  edge  of  the  ravine  and  melted 
there  before  the  shells  and  bullets;  the  second  line 
rushed  into  its  place  and  then  plunged  into  the  ravine, 
appearing  the  next  instant  on  our  side. 

All  became  a  confused  and  terrible  blur,  and  pres- 
ently I  heard  a  cry  of  despair.  Our  whole  line  had 
been  pressed  back  and  we  were  losing  the  battle.  A 
shout  of  triumph  from  the  enemy  rose  and  filled  the 
air,  striking  to  our  hearts.  Then  the  Southerners  came 
again  with  a  rush  as  fierce  as  the  others,  and  once  more 
we  were  forced  back  toward  the  river,  yielding  the 
ground  foot  by  foot,  though  we  left  it  red  behind  us. 

The  troops  that  yet  lived,  worn  by  long  hours  of 
fighting — the  regiments  cut  to  ribbons — could  not 
stand  the  repeated  shocks.  The  Southerners  continued 
to  push  us  back  slowly.  One  of  our  brigades  faltered 
and  began  to  retreat  more  rapidly.  The  Southerners 
threw  themselves  upon  it  at  this,  the  critical  moment, 
when  the  minds  of  the  men  hovered  between  fighting 
to  the  end  and  the  folly  of  fighting  longer.  The 
brigade,  struck  at  such  a  time,  was  paralyzed.  It  ceased 
to  be  an  organized  body,  fell  apart,  divided  into  com- 
panies, then  the  companies  broke  up,  dissolved  like 
dew  under  the  sun,  and  the  brigade  existed  no  longer, 
just  a  huddled  mass  of  fleeing  men,  pelted  by  steel 
and  lead,  and  urged  on  in  their  flight.     Those  of  us 


136  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

who  yet  stood  were  cut  off;  but  led  by  Sherman,  we 
seized  a  hill  and  clung  to  it,  seeking  to  hold  the  head 
of  the  bridge  across  the  marshes  of  Snake  Creek,  over 
which  Wallace,  who  was  nearest  to  us,  must  come  to  our 
relief,  if  he  came  at  all. 

I  felt  like  one  shut  up  in  a  furnace,  and  I  gazed 
into  the  face  of  Shaftoe  for  comfort,  finding  none  there. 
A  shell  with  a  new  note  flew  high  over  my  head,  and, 
looking  at  its  flight  for  a  moment,  I  saw  that  it  passed 
on  and  fell  among  the  enemy,  a  fresh  salute  to  the 
charging  squares.  It  was  followed  by  another  and 
then  another.  Our  troops  began  to  shout  with  new. 
hope.  We  had  been  pushed  so  far  back  toward  the 
Tennessee  that  two  of  the  Northern  gunboats  in  the 
river  opened  fire  over  our  heads  and  into  the  enemy 
— a  water  battery  welcome  beyond  compare.  It  was 
the  first  help  that  came  to  us  in  eight  hours  of  fight- 
ing, and  we  drew  encouragement  from  it,  feeling  that 
if  we  were  succoured  thus  at  the  last  moment  we 
might  expect  yet  more.  The  trails  of  fire  made  by 
the  shells  seemed  beautiful  to  us,  and  our  spirit  in- 
creased for  a  resistance  still  more  stubborn.  We  dug 
our  feet  deeper  into  the  earth  and  clung  to  the  hills 
covering  the  bridge  head.  Nothing  could  drive  us 
back  farther.  Our  numbers  melted  away,  but  not  faster 
than  those  of  our  assailants.     We  gave  blow  for  blow. 

The  day  was  waning,  and  the  night,  tinged  red  by 
the  cannon  blaze,  was  at  hand.  Many  of  the  Southern 
soldiers  considered  the  battle  gloriously  and  completely 
won.  They  had  taken  thirty  cannon,  and  thousands  of 
prisoners  were  in  their  hands.  Eejoicing  at  the  sight 
of  the  plenty  in  our  captured  camp,  so  unlike  their  own 
want,  they  scattered  to  pick  up  plunder,  and,  above  all, 
the  superior  Northern  arms.  The  camp  was  luxury  to 
them,  for  it  was  full  of  provisions,  and  these  Southern- 
ers already  knew  what  it  was  to  march  and  fight  on 
empty  stomachs  and  bare  feet.     They  had  made  a  great 


THE  SONG  OP  THE  SHELL  137 

journey  and  fought  a  great  battle,  and  they  had  not 
eaten  in  forty-eight  hours.  They  believed  that  the 
time  to  take  their  reward  had  come,  and  they  took 
it,  shouting  to  each  other  their  joy  and  congratulations. 
Discipline  was  relaxed  and  their  army  lost  cohesion. 
Johnston,  their  brave  leader,  conspicuous  on  horseback, 
had  been  killed  earlier  in  the  day  at  the  head  of  his 
troops,  and  the  other  generals  failed  to  grasp  his  plans 
and  make  his  victory  secure.  Sherman  still  held  the 
bridge  head,  and  all  the  great  qualities  of  our  chief  com- 
mander, Grant,  were  coming  out.  Silent,  unyielding, 
he  knew  that  he  had  lost  one  battle,  but  he  determined 
to  win  another. 

The  sun  was  going  down  upon  this  sanguinary  com- 
bat. A  great  globe  of  red  and  gold,  it  hung  just  above 
the  forest,  in  the  west,  throwing  only  a  few  rays  through 
the  thick  clouds  of  smoke  that  rolled  over  the  battle- 
field. The  twilight  deepened  in  the  dim  woods,  but  be- 
fore the  night  could  come  the  Southerners  rushed  upon 
a  new  battery  that  had  been  formed  at  the  river's  bank, 
determined  that  the  long  delayed  completeness  of  their 
triumph  should  yet  be  won.  Gun  after  gun  was  dis- 
charged point  blank  into  their  charging  lines.  The 
man  who  had  known  how  to  form  the  battery  knew  also 
how  to  use  it.  The  blaze  of  the  cannon  was  magnified 
and  intensified  in  the  dark.  It  seemed  to  the  Southern- 
ers that  they  were  rushing  into  the  mouths  of  furnaces; 
yet  they  came  on,  to  be  broken  by  the  showers  of  pro- 
jectiles, to  stumble  over  their  own  fallen,  to  reform 
their  lines  and  to  charge  again.  A  wide  stream  of 
shells  from  the  gunboats  in  the  river,  curved  over  the 
battery  and  plunged  among  them.  They  formed  a 
battery  of  their  own,  but  it  was  shattered  by  the  fire  of 
its  heavier  Northern  antagonist.  The  cannoneers  were 
killed  and  the  guns  dismounted.  Nevertheless,  the  in- 
fantry still  attacked. 

A  boy  in  the  Northern  battery  waved  his  hat  and 


138  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

pointed  to  the  river.  The  men  looked  behind  them  for 
the  first  time  and  a  shout  of  triumph  and  joy  arose. 
The  steamers  were  bringing  fresh  troops  across  the 
Tennessee.  Nelson's  division  had  come  up  and  would 
soon  be  in  the  battle.  These  raw  men,  from  Ohio  and 
Indiana  chiefly,  landing,  were  compelled  to  form  among 
a  mob  of  fugitives  and  of  wounded  who  had  been  able  to 
come  off  the  field.  They  were  faced  immediately  by  one 
of  the  most  terrible  aspects  of  war — crowds  of  fright- 
ened men,  many  of  them  badly  hurt,  some  who  had  been 
gallant  soldiers  until  panic  overtook  them,  nearly  all 
believing  that  the  end  of  the  world  was  at  hand;  while 
above  them  on  the  bank,  in  the  twilight,  the  battle 
thundered  as  it  had  thundered  all  that  long  day,  and 
over  their  heads  the  fire  of  the  gunboats  curved  and 
streamed.  But  they  went  up  the  bank  and  to  the  relief 
of  their  comrades,  pressed  so  hard  and  so  long.  They 
were  received  there  in  a  voiceless  welcome,  the  depth  of 
which  none  can  know  save  those  who  have  fought  all 
day  a  losing  fight,  until,  at  the  twelfth  hour,  help  comes. 

The  Southerners  made  one  last  charge  upon  the  bat- 
tery, and,  like  the  others,  it  was  beaten  back.  Nothing 
availed  against  those  cannon  mouths.  The  defenders 
now  outnumbered  the  assailants,  who  were  worn  to 
the  bone  by  their  work.  The  night  was  at  hand, 
and  all  knew  that  a  further  attack  upon  the  battery 
meant  a  further  loss  of  life  and  no  result.  The  word 
was  given  to  retire,  and  the  unbeaten  Southern  troops 
fell  back  to  the  field  that  they  had  won,  and  from  tbe 
battery  that  they  had  not  won,  leaving  us  at  last  to  rest. 

The  sun  sank  behind  the  trees,  and  its  light  went 
out.  All  the  firing  ceased  suddenly.  Darkness  swept 
down  over  the  field  and  enveloped  the  two  armies,  the 
living  and  the  dead. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE    NIGHT   BETWEEN 

The  most  solemn  night  yet  known  by  the  New 
World  began.  The  killed  were  strewn  far  through  the 
dim  forest,  lying  as  they  had  fallen,  untouched  by 
friendly  or  unfriendly  hands;  and,  with  the  dead,  be- 
tween the  lines  of  the  two  hostile  armies  which  expected 
to  fight  again  on  the  morrow,  lay  ten  thousand  wounded. 

The  night  was  close,  hot,  and  sticky,  full  of  the  damp 
heat  that  gathers  sometimes  in  the  Mississippi  Valley 
and  hangs  like  vapours  over  the  earth,  clogging  the 
throats  of  those  who  try  to  breathe.  It  rolled  up 
in  wet  coils  from  the  south,  and  lay  heavy  in  the 
lungs  of  the  men.  No  wind  stirred  the  forest,  the 
branches  of  the  trees  hanging  dead  and  motionless  in 
the  air.  Clouds  gathered  over  all  the  skies,  increasing 
the  heat  of  the  night.  Not  a  single  star  came  out. 
The  forest,  set  on  fire  by  the  shells,  burned  slowly 
here  and  there,  but  the  flames  were  hidden  or  obscured 
by  the  columns  of  smoke  that  still  rose  from  the 
thickets,  and  the  sparks  gave  forth  no  cheerful  twinkle. 
The  gunboats  in  the  river  fired  a  shell  every  ten  minutes 
toward  the  Southern  army,  and  the  heavy  note  echoed 
like  the  slow  tolling  of  a  funeral  bell.  The  fires  of 
the  hostile  armies  rose  within  sight  of  one  another, 
but  the  rifles  were  silent.  The  men  had  no  strength 
left,  and  what  would  come  they  must  guard  for  the 
morrow. 

10  139 


140  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"When  the  last  shot  was  fired,  I  leaned  against  a  can- 
non wheel  and  looked  at  the  forest  in  which  the  South- 
ern army  lay.  It  had  been  ten  or  twelve  hours  since 
that  army  sprang  out  of  the  woods  and  threw  itself  upon 
us,  but  I  felt  that  I  had  lived  a  second  life  in  the  brief 
space.     Some  one  dropped  a  hand  upon  my  shoulder. 

"Food!  Henry,  food!"  said  Shaftoe  cheerfully. 
"  Now  is  the  time  to  eat.  In  fact,  it  came  some  time 
ago;  but  those  impolite  rebels  insisted  on  taking  supper 
with  us,  and  we  had  to  put  them  out  of  the  house." 

"  I  don't  want  to  eat.     I  want  to  sleep." 

"  Maybe  you  don't  want  to  eat,  but  food  will  be  good 
for  you,  and  the  Government  demands  that  you  eat. 
When  you  enlisted  you  entered  into  a  contract  that  con- 
tains only  one  provision,  namely,  that  you  do,  at  any 
and  all  times,  and  under  any  and  all  circumstances, 
whatever  your  officer,  who  is  the  representative  of  the 
Government,  no  matter  how  great  a  fool  he  may  be, 
orders  you  to  do.  The  Government  now  tells  you  to 
eat,  not  because  food  will  taste  good  to  the  hungry,  but 
because  it  will  need  your  strength  for  the  battle  to- 
morrow. I  have  spent  thirty  years  learning  this,  and  I 
know.     Come  on,  and  don't  be  a  fool." 

I  followed  without  another  word,  knowing  that 
Shaftoe  was  right.  We  went  but  a  few  steps.  Soldiers 
were  lighting  the  supper  fires  on  the  hills  overlooking 
the  river,  the  hills  to  which  Sherman  and  some  others 
had  clung  so  tightly,  and  which  were  all  that  was  left  to 
us.  The  Southern  army  held  the  rest  of  the  field,  and 
lay  coiled  before  us. 

The  fires  burned  slowly,  the  flames  rising  straight 
up  and  showing  the  utter  deadness  of  the  air.  The 
clouds  grew  thicker  and  settled  lower,  giving  a  ghostly 
effect  to  the  dim  forest  in  which  the  flames  quivered 
like  phantom  lights.  The  air  was  a  dull,  sodden  gray, 
and  the  river  showed  a  sombre  yellow,  winding  in  a 
broad  band  among  the  hills  and  woods.     I  shivered, 


THE  NIGHT  BETWEEN  141 

though  not  with  cold,  and  looked  again  at  the  Southern 
camp  fires. 

"  Why  is  there  no  fighting?  "  I  asked.  "  We  are 
within  gunshot  of  each  other." 

"  Because  it  is  not  necessary/'  replied  Shaftoe.  "  It 
is  another  of  the  Government  stipulations  that  you  do 
not  fight  when  it  is  not  needed,  as  thereby  you  would 
waste  your  strength  and  ammunition,  and  both  are  ex- 
pensive— especially  the  latter.  Those  men  over  there 
are  doing  us  no  harm,  why  should  we  shoot  at  them?  " 

Shaftoe  had  become  a  cook,  turning  himself  with 
ready  skill  to  the  new  need.  A  rich  and  accessible 
North  always  gave  plenty  of  food  to  its  armies,  and  the 
stores  were  hurried  up  from  the  steamers  and  across 
the  river.     The  odour  made  me  hungry  and  I  ate. 

The  fires  blazed  up  on  either  side  of  the  river,  cast- 
ing long  gleams  of  light  over  the  dusky  stream,  and 
faintly  touching  the  still  forests.  The  steamers  and 
tugs  were  bringing  across  the  troops,  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  their  puffing  and  panting.  Innumerable 
columns  of  smoke  added  to  the  closeness  of  the  sultry 
night. 

The  lights  on  the  Tennessee  seemed  to  me,  lying  on 
a  hilltop  among  the  trees,  so  many  quivering  stars. 
Their  glare  was  shaded  and  softened  by  the  distance, 
and  they  appeared,  twinkled,  and  went  out,  and  then 
appeared  again.  The  water  near  them  gleamed  in  spots 
of  silver  and  gold  as  the  flames  fell,  and  sometimes 
when  the  flash  was  brightest  I  saw  the  faces  of  the 
men  on  the  boats,  pale,  lips  compressed,  and  always 
looking  anxiously  toward  the  shore  that  had  been  the 
battle  shore.  There  was  the  same  absence  of  talk  that 
had  marked  the  passage  of  the  first  detachment,  only 
the  clashing  of  arms,  the  puffing  of  the  steamers,  the 
rattle  of  their  machinery,  and  occasionally  the  voice  of 
an  officer — the  whole  a  picture  of  solemn  majesty. 

The  presence  of  the  river  and  its  great  winding 


142  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

column  of  water  had  no  effect  upon  the  closeness  of 
the  night.  The  heat  seemed  to  pile  in  clouds  of  vapour 
upon  the  stream.  The  battle  smoke  was  still  hanging 
over  the  forests,  and  wisps  of  it  floated  off  toward  the 
skies. 

Physical  exhaustion  and  the  terrible  excitement  and 
strain  of  the  day  put  me  in  an  unreal  mental  state,  in 
which  distorted  and  fantastic  images  danced  before  my 
eyes.  I  stared  at  the  forest,  the  yellow  river  with  its 
twinkling  lights,  and  then  at  the  pale  faces  of  soldiers 
appearing  and  reappearing.  But  all  were  phantoms. 
The  figures  on  the  boats  were  no  more  than  the  ghosts 
of  men,  the  river  took  some  strange  new  colour,  and  the 
lights  passing  and  repassing  became  so  faint  at  times 
that  I  could  not  tell  whether  I  saw  them  or  they  were 
mere  fancy.  I  tried  to  count  them,  but  they  danced 
about  in  the  weirdest  fashion;  and  losing  myself  in  a 
maze,  I  turned  my  eyes  back  to  the  forest  in  front. 
The  fires  there  were  sinking.  The  Southern  army,  ex- 
hausted by  its  tremendous  march  and  equally  tremen- 
dous battle,  was  overpowered  by  lethargy. 

I  watched  the  Southern  fires  die,  one  by  one,  and 
then  listened,  ear  to  the  earth,  for  the  unheard  plaints 
of  the  wounded.  I  could  not  take  my  mind  from  them. 
I  wondered  that  they  did  not  cry  out.  I  strained  my 
eyes  into  the  darkness,  but  I  could  not  see  the  fallen 
men,  only  the  last  feeble  lights  of  the  Southern  camp 
fires  and  the  torn  and  trampled  forest.  It  looked  as  if 
a  succession  of  fierce  storms  had  swept  over  it.  In  one 
place  an  entire  group  of  trees  had  been  cut  down  by 
cannon  balls  and  lay  in  a  tangled  mass.  Everywhere 
boughs  were  scattered,  and  the  thickets  had  been  torn 
alike  by  the  sweep  of  shells  and  bullets  and  the  passing 
of  men.  Near  me  were  the  remains  of  a  cannon,  both 
wheels  shot  off  and  the  barrel  split  at  its  muzzle,  look- 
ing, with  its  empty  mouth  and  torn  body,  like  an  em- 
blem of  death  and  decay.     I  did  not  know  to  which 


THE  NIGHT  BETWEEN  143 

army  the  gun  had  belonged.  The  trees,  set  on  fire  by 
the  exploding  shells,  still  burned  languidly  in  patches, 
emitting  few  sparks,  and  the  smoke  floated  off  to  join 
the  canopy  that  had  formed  during  the  battle. 

I  could  not  sleep,  yet  the  night  became  dimmer. 
Everything  was  in  wavy  lines.  The  hum  of  the  crossing 
troops  reached  me.  Now  and  then  a  word  floated  up  to 
my  ears,  but  my  senses  while  willing  to  be  benumbed, 
refused  to  be  lulled. 

"  Why  don't  you  sleep?  "  asked  Shaftoe. 

"  I  can  not  fight  all  day  for  the  first  time  and  then 
sleep  as  if  I  were  at  home  in  my  bed.  You'll  have  to 
wait  until  I  form  the  habit,"  I  replied.  And  then  I 
added,  "  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep  yourself?  " 

Shaftoe  did  not  reply,  because  his  unconcern  was 
not  as  great  as  his  pretence.  His  eyes  were  sad  when 
they  strained  into  the  dimness  where  the  wounded  lay. 
My  own  closed  by  and  bye,  and  then  I  heard  shots.  The 
Southern  army  again  sprang  from  the  brushwood  and 
the  battle  raged  as  before  through  the  forest  to  the  roar 
of  artillery,  the  crash  of  eighty  thousand  rifles,  the 
shouts  of  charging  men,  and  with  all  the  real  force  and 
fury  of  a  great  struggle.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  found 
that  I  had  fallen  into  an  uneasy  sleep  and  still  more 
troubled  dream,  repeating  the  history  of  the  day. 

"  I  heard  the  thunder  of  the  charge  again,"  I  said, 
with  a  mirthless  laugh,  to  Shaftoe,  who  was  sitting  up 
and  wide-awake. 

"  You  heard  thunder,  but  it  was  the  thunder  of 
God,"  replied  the  regular,  with  a  sententiousness  rare 
in  him.     "  Listen  to  it!  " 

The  thunder  in  fact  was  grumbling  in  the  south- 
west, and  I  saw  that  while  I  slept  the  heavens  had  be- 
come darker.  Not  a  shred  of  blue  showed.  A  flash 
of  lightning  curved  across  the  sky,  the  air  stirred, 
and  the  flames  of  the  trees  that  yet  burned  quivered 
before  it. 


144  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  A  storm  is  coming,"  I  said.     "  A  fresh  horror." 

"  Not  a  horror  at  all,"  replied  the  regular.  "  Think 
what  a  blessing  the  cool  rain  will  be  on  the  hot  faces 
of  the  wounded  lying  among  all  those  trees  and  thickets. 
Let  it  come." 

A  gust  of  wind  swept  over  us.  The  close  damp 
clouds  of  heat  were  lifted,  the  coils  of  smoke  and  vapour 
were  driven  away  over  the  trees.  The  thunder  cracked 
directly  overhead,  a  flash  of  lightning  split  the  entire 
sky,  and  the  rain,  driven  on  in  torrents  by  the  wind, 
rushed  upon  us.  The  camp  was  drenched  in  a  moment, 
the  earth  ran  water.  The  flames  in  the  trees  and  the 
smouldering  camp  fires  were  alike  put  out,  and  the  em- 
bers steaming  in  their  place  cast  out  smoke  until  the 
sweep  of  the  rain  extinguished  them  too.  The  air  was 
filled  with  twigs  and  the  fragments  of  boughs,  picked 
up  by  the  gusts,  but  the  wind  soon  passed  on  and  left 
only  the  rain,  now  pouring  steadily  out  of  one  vast 
cloud  that  covered  all  the  sky.  The  lightning  ceased, 
only  the  thunder  grumbled  distinctly,  and  all  other 
sounds  were  subdued  by  the  regular  beat  of  the  rain. 

The  battlefield  then  sank  into  unbroken  darkness, 
the  Southern  lines  became  invisible,  but  the  pas- 
sage of  the  Army  of  the  Ohio  over  the  river,  boat  by 
boat,  continued  as  steadily  as  ever.  That  was  a  matter 
which  could  not  halt  for  weather.  The  rain  ceased  by 
and  bye,  the  blue  crept  into  the  sky,  the  stars  came  out, 
and  I  fell  asleep  again  on  the  soaking  earth. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE     SECOND     DAT 

The  trumpets  were  sounding  the  awakening  call, 
and  I  rose  from  the  damp  earth,  finding  it  good  to  feel 
myself  a  man  again.  The  rays  of  the  sun  were  flushing 
the  heavens,  and  the  river,  yellow  and  sombre  at  night, 
glittered  beneath  the  light  now,  in  a  vast  sheet  of  silver. 
Beads  of  rain  still  sparkled  on  the  trees. 

I  looked  toward  the  Southern  lines,  but  instead  of 
the  Southern  camp  fires,  I  saw  only  a  great  army  in  blue, 
the  sun  flashing  over  rifle  barrels,  polished  bayonets, 
rows  of  cannon,  and  eager  faces,  the  youth  of  the  North- 
west, and  my  own  Kentucky,  ready  for  a  new  battle. 
I  was  dazzled  for  a  moment,  and  cried  out: 

"What  is  that?" 

"  That,"  said  the  ever-ready  Shaf toe,  "  is  the  Army 
of  the  Ohio,  more  than  thirty  thousand  strong,  which, 
luckily  for  us,  now  stands  between  our  remains  and  the 
Southern  forces.  It  will  open  the  battle  as  soon  as  you 
drink  your  coffee.  Hurry  up,  please;  the  Army  of  the 
Ohio  is  waiting." 

The  regular  was  full  of  good  humour,  rejoicing  at 
the  presence  of  the  new  force  which  had  already  moved 
forward,  occupying  almost  without  resistance  many  of 
the  positions  lost  the  day  before,  and  I  began  to  share 
his  high  spirits  and  expectations. 

A  vast  murmur  arose  as  the  untried  army  in  front 
formed  for  battle.     Up  rose  the  sun,  and  the  heavy  me- 

145 


146  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

tallic  clash  that  told  of  moving  arms  began.  A  band, 
just  landed  from  one  of  the  boats  and  posted  on  the 
bank,  was  playing,  its  martial  note  swelling  through  the 
forest. 

The  men  around  me  began  to  grow  impatient. 
They  had  forgotten  their  toil  and  wounds,  and  asked  to 
be  led  again  to  the  charge.  But  there  was  a  pause. 
Each  army  seemed  to  await  the  attack  of  the  other. 
Perhaps  they  had  suddenly  remembered  the  slaughter 
of  the  day  before.  Higher  went  the  sun.  All  the  east- 
ern heavens  were  suffused  with  red  and  gold.  The  day 
was  advancing.  The  cannon  boomed  far  to  our  right, 
the  report  echoing  with  wonderful  distinctness  through 
the  forest,  which  had  been  strangely  silent  before,  save 
for  the  murmur  of  two  great  armies.  The  sound  re- 
peating itself  rolled  away  among  the  hills,  a  clear  and 
threatening  echo.     A  column  of  blue  smoke  arose. 

The  second  battle  had  begun. 

A  shout,  great  in  volume,  went  down  our  ranks,  and 
all  the  drummers  began  to  beat  their  drums.  Fifty 
thousand  men  swung  forward,  and  advancing  over  the 
field  that  had  been  lost  the  day  before,  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  enemy  who  waited  calmly.  Already  the 
skirmishers,  following  the  signal  of  the  cannon  shot, 
had  opened  fire  from  the  shelter  of  trees,  and  stumps, 
and  hillocks,  creeping  up,  like  Indians,  each  choosing 
the  man  for  his  bullet.  But  the  crackle  of  their  rifles 
was  drowned  by  the  heavy  tread  of  the  army  and  the 
roar  of  the  batteries  which  had  opened  with  all  the 
great  guns. 

The  precision  of  the  advance,  the  regularity  of  the 
brigades,  the  flashing  of  steel,  and  the  vivid  colours  in 
the  brilliant  morning  sun  filled  me  with  admiration, 
and,  being  in  the  rear  now,  where  I  could  see,  I  looked 
upon  the  coming  battle  as  a  great  spectacle.  I  did  not 
think  how  a  single  day's  fighting  had  hardened  me  and 
driven  the  mere  personal  element,  the  feeling  for  suffer- 


THE  SECOND  DAY  147 

ing,  the  anxiety  for  self,  out  of  my  mind,  but  all  my  at- 
tention was  on  the  magnificent  panorama  of  conflict 
spread  out  before  my  eyes,  and  its  probable  result. 

The  Southern  army  was  motionless,  standing  in  a 
solid  mass  that  showed  no  sign  of  retreat  or  yielding. 
The  firing  increased,  a  blaze  of  light  ran  along  the 
entire  front  of  our  lines,  the  flight  of  the  bullets  and 
shells  rose  to  that  steady  whistle  which  was  now  such 
a  familiar  sound  in  my  ears,  but  the  South  was  still 
silent. 

As  I  looked  again  with  eager  eyes,  I  suddenly  saw 
the  Southern  cannoneers  bend  over  their  guns,  and  the 
front  rank  men  raise  their  rifles  to  their  shoulders. 
Then  the  Southern  army  was  hidden  for  a  moment  by 
the  flame,  and  the  bullets  sang  many  songs  in  our 
ears.  Their  shells,  too,  met  the  Northern  shells,  and 
the  Southern  squares  by  a  movement  that  was  almost 
involuntary  swung  forward  to  meet  us.  The  smoke  in 
a  few  moments  enveloped  the  hills,  the  forests,  and 
the  armies,  only  the  flash  of  the  firing  and  the  steel 
of  the  bayonets  showing  through  it.  I  advanced,  al- 
most shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  man  on  my  right 
and  the  man  on  my  left,  feeling  that  the  army  was 
a  mighty  whole,  of  which  I  was  one  of  the  minute 
parts. 

But  our  army  stopped  suddenly  and  quivered  as  if 
it  had  received  a  great  blow.  I  was  incredulous  for  a 
moment.  I  had  not  believed  a  check  possible.  Yet  it 
was  a  fact.  The  squares  not  only  stopped;  they  reeled 
back.  Then  they  recovered  the  yard  or  two  they  had 
lost,  but  stopped  there  again,  staggering. 

The  army  groaned,  not  so  much  in  pain  as  in  anger. 
It  had  struck  a  rock  when  it  was  expected  to  move 
steadily  on,  and  the  feeling  was  not  good.  It  was  now 
our  troops  who  were  marching  into  the  mouths  of  guns, 
and  the  feeling  was  unpleasant.  Sharpshooters  swarmed 
on  our  flanks  and  stung  us  with  an  unceasing  fire  that 


148  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

annoyed  as  much  as  the  cannon  and  was  almost  as  dead- 
ly. Every  tree,  hillock,  and  stone  became  a  fortress 
against  us.  The  enemy,  whom  we  had  expected  to  find 
worn  out  and  weak  from  his  work  and  losses  of  the  day 
before,  suddenly  developed  wonderful  strength  and 
energy,  and  it  became  apparent  to  us  that  all  the  ground 
we  would  take  we  must  buy  at  its  full  price. 

The  triumphant  shout — the  long  rebel  yell,  shrill 
and  piercing,  swelling  even  above  the  tumult  of  the 
combat — rose  again  in  the  Southern  lines,  and  thus  the 
new  battle  swung  to  and  fro,  the  North  confident  of 
winning  with  its  fresh  troops,  the  South  refusing  to 
yield. 

Grant,  as  on  the  day  before,  crossed  the  field  from 
side  to  side,  again  and  again,  watching  the  battle  lines 
and  the  shifting  fortunes  of  the  conflict,  hurrying  fresh 
troops  to  weak  places  and  massing  the  artillery.  He 
saw  us  forced  back  by  the  furious  and  repeated  attacks 
of  the  South,  and  determining  to  break  the  centre  of 
their  army,  he  directed  three  batteries  to  open  on  that 
point.  These  great  guns  began  their  work  from  slight 
elevations,  and  in  a  moment  a  concentric  fire,  tremen- 
dous in  volume,  was  poured  upon  the  Southern  centre. 
The  men  were  swept  away  in  rows  and  groups,  others 
took  their  places,  but  the  fire  of  the  three  batteries, 
coming  from  three  separate  points,  and  all  beating  upon 
the  same  spot,  increased  in  volume,  smashing  companies 
and  regiments,  a  stream  of  metal  that  scooped  out  the 
Southern  centre  as  a  plough  throws  up  the  earth.  The 
Southern  general  rushed  new  men  to  the  threatened 
centre,  but  they  in  turn  were  annihilated  by  the  batter- 
ies. Nothing  could  stand  against  the  fire  of  those  great 
guns  delivered  with  such  swiftness  and  accuracy.  They 
swept  a  path  clean  of  living  men  and  the  Southern  force 
was  cut  apart;  the  wings  were  there,  but  the  centre  was 
gone,  the  backbone  broken,  and  cohesion  lost.  Then 
Grant  lifted  up  our  army  again  and  hurled  it  at  the 


THE  SECOND  DAY  149 

enemy.  The  South  yielded  to  the  shock — only  a  little 
— but  it  was  forced  back. 

I  shouted  with  the  others  when  I  felt  that  we  were 
going  forward  again,  and  the  hot  tide  rose  anew  in  my 
veins.  I  was  half  blinded  by  the  smoke  which  the 
breath  of  the  guns  blew  in  clouds,  but  the  sense  of 
feeling  told  me  that  the  army  was  advancing. 

Fortune,  wanton  in  her  fickleness,  returned  to  the 
side  of  the  heavier  battalions,  and  our  advance,  be- 
gun when  the  Southern  centre  was  broken,  continued. 
Yet  the  Southern  men  still  fought  with  undimmed  cour- 
age, knowing  that  they  were  losers  at  last,  but  deter- 
mined to  lose  like  heroes.  The  fighting  was  often  hand 
to  hand  again,  companies  and  regiments  mingling  in 
the  woods,  but  always  now  our  line  advanced  and  the 
Southern  line  was  borne  back. 


CHAPTEE   XVIII 


A    STRAY    SHOT 


The  overwhelming  Northern  army  pressed  continu- 
ally against  the  weakened  Southern  force,  which,  ex- 
hausted by  two  days  of  fierce  conflict,  nevertheless 
fought  on  for  the  sake  of  the  pride  and  stubbornness 
which  form  such  important  factors  in  bravery,  and 
which  help  to  make  wars.  Our  numerous  brigades,  ex- 
tending in  long  lines,  threatened  to  enwrap  our  oppo- 
nent and  strangle  him,  but  the  light  troops  and  sharp- 
shooters on  the  flanks  of  the  Southern  army  still  buzzed 
and  stung  like  bees  and  held  back  the  heavy  coils  that 
pressed  incessantly  and  too  closely. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
battle  was  lost  to  the  South — lost  after  it  was  once  won. 
Beauregard,  the  Southern  general,  at  last  commanded 
the  buglers  to  sound  the  retreat — a  sad  note  to  those 
gallant  men,  though  they  had  long  known  that  it  must 
come.  Losing  but  undismayed,  its  order  preserved  and 
ready  to  fight  again  if  attacked,  the  Southern  army 
passed  off  the  field,  disappearing  in  the  forest  from 
which  it  had  emerged  so  suddenly,  and  the  battle  of 
Shiloh  was  over.  As  many  had  been  killed  or  wounded 
as  at  Austerlitz  or  Jena,  with  a  percentage  of  loss  far 
greater,  and  the  song  of  the  shell  had  just  begun. 

Our  army  did  not  pursue.  It,  too,  was  sorely 
wounded  in  the  mighty  struggle;  and,  having  watched 
its  enemy  retire,  turned  back  upon  the  field,  where 
150 


A  STRAY  SHOT  151 

nearly  thirty  thousand  men  had  been  killed  or  wounded. 
There  it  began  to  rest,  count  its  dead,  and  relieve  the 
wounded — and  the  last  was  the  hardest  task  of  all. 
Scouts  were  sent  out  to  search  the  woods  and  see 
whether  danger  of  a  new  attack  existed.  I  was  among 
these;  and  renewing  my  supply  of  ammunition  I  entered 
the  forest,  following  the  trail  of  the  retreating  South- 
erners. I  had  not  reached  the  extreme  limits  of  the 
battlefield  before  I  saw  gray  figures  hovering  among 
the  tree  trunks.  I  guessed  them  to  be  Southern  skir- 
mishers, covering  the  rear  of  their  army,  and  going 
closer  for  better  information,  I  received  a  bullet  through 
my  legs,  and,  falling  to  the  ground,  was  unable  to  rise 
again. 

I  felt  no  great  pain  when  the  bullet  struck,  and  my 
first  emotion  was  surprise  that  I  could  not  regain  my 
feet.  Then  the  sharp  ache  of  a  broken  bone  began  to 
smite  me,  and  when  I  sat  up  I  found  that  the  right  leg 
was  the  sufferer,  but  the  bullet  had  gone  on  through  the 
flesh  of  the  left,  and  I  was  losing  blood  rapidly.  I 
bound  the  wounds  tightly  with  strips  of  my  coat  and 
waited  for  some  one  to  come  and  take  me  back  to  camp. 

Nobody  came  and  I  shouted  for  help;  there  was  no 
response.  The  bandages  stopped  the  flow  of  blood,  but 
I  became  weak  because  of  that  already  lost.  My  sight 
grew  dim  and  for  a  little  while  the  world  wavered  about 
me.  Then  I  recalled  my  strength  and  tried  to  crawl 
over  the  ground,  wishing  to  sit  again  by  the  camp  fires 
and  hear  the  voices  of  my  comrades.  The  pain  from 
my  broken  leg  became  so  acute  that  I  was  forced  to 
stop,  and  I  lay  there  in  silence,  waiting.  I  won- 
dered why  no  one  came.  Then  I  noticed  that  I  was  in 
a  little  hollow  or  depression,  with  thick  woods  on  three 
sides  of  me,  and  searchers  for  the  wounded  might  pass 
within  a  few  yards  without  seeing  the  man  who  lay 
there. 

I  heard  carts  moving  about  the  field  two  or  three 


152  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

times  and  shouted,  hoping  that  they  would  hear  me,  but 
they  passed  on,  and  then  I  knew  that  my  voice  had  be- 
come weak.  I  fell  into  a  rage  that  I  should  be  left 
there  to  die  alone,  with  thousands  so  near,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  the  choicest  and  bitterest  joke  of  fate  that  I 
should  pass  safely  through  a  great  battle,  lasting  two 
days,  to  fall  after  it  was  over  by  the  chance  bullet  of 
some  skirmisher,  and  to  die  alone  in  the  forest  in  sight 
of  the  field  that  had  witnessed  so  much  heroism. 

But  little  more  than  two  hours  of  the  afternoon  had 
been  left  when  I  fell,  yet  the  day  seemed  to  linger  long. 
The  sun  scorched  me  and  I  burned  with  thirst.  The 
night  had  terrors  for  a  wounded  man  alone  in  the 
woods,  but  I  wished  for  its  long,  cool  shadows  across  my 
face.  My  mind  grew  more  active,  physical  power  being 
taken  from  me,  and  I  began  to  wander  over  wide 
reaches,  coloured  always  by  the  heat  that  had  crept  into 
my  veins.  My  own  fate,  shot  down  in  such  a  manner 
after  passing  safely  through  the  battle,  seemed  ridicu- 
lous and  designed  as  a  special  humiliation.  Millions  of 
other  bullets  had  missed  me;  this  alone,  when  the 
chance  was  a  million  to  one  that  it  would  miss  me  too, 
had  put  me  on  my  back  in  a  hollow,  where  I  might 
meditate  in  the  little  time  that  was  left  to  me  on  the 
ease  with  which  fate  upsets  human  plans. 

I  heard  from  afar  the  clatter  of  the  camp,  the  blend- 
ing of  the  many  noises  which  help  to  make  up  the  life 
of  a  great  army,  but  they  sank  to  a  murmur  as  the  sun 
went  down  and  the  night  came. 

I  did  not  feel  the  expected  joy  when  I  saw  the  ad- 
vancing darkness.  The  heat  of  the  day  passed,  and  the 
fever  that  was  upon  me  loosened  its  grasp  somewhat,  but 
the  night  chilled  me  and  made  me  afraid.  I  was  over- 
powered by  a  deep  sense  of  loneliness,  and  the  nearness 
of  the  camp  increased  this  feeling.  I  longed  for  com- 
panionship, even  if  it  were  only  another  wounded  man, 
some  one  to  talk  to,  a  voice  to  be  heard. 


A  STRAY  SHOT  153 

Looking  in  the  direction  of  the  camp  I  could  see  a 
faint  pink  glow,  and  I  thought  of  the  men  by  the  sup- 
per fires,  cheerful,  telling  each  other  of  their  escapes  in 
the  battle  and  rejoicing.  Then  I  felt  another  bitter 
pang  because  I  was  an  outcast,  excluded  from  it  all.  I 
had  fought  as  well  as  they,  but  reward  was  denied  to  me. 

The  darkness  covered  all  the  earth  except  in  the 
direction  of  the  camp,  where  the  pink  glow  stood  out 
against  the  black,  and  the  boughs  above  me  became  dark 
gray  and  shadowy.  Toward  the  middle  of  the  field  sev- 
eral trees,  fired  by  the  cannon  shots,  were  burning  in 
red  cones — candles  of  the  night  I  called  them — and 
presently  fainter  lights  began  to  glimmer  in  many 
places.  They  were  the  lanterns  of  those  gathering  up 
the  dead,  and  I  rejoiced,  believing  now  that  they  would 
find  me  soon.  I  shouted  again,  but  my  voice  brought 
nobody.  I  might  as  well  have  been  alone  in  the  wilder- 
ness.    To  all  purposes  I  was. 

I  had  felt  the  night  before  a  deep  sympathy  for  the 
wounded  lying  upon  the  field,  but  it  was  not  so  personal 
then  as  it  became  now.  I  could  picture  to  my  mind 
the  vast  suffering  of  the  twenty  thousand  wounded,  be- 
cause I  was  one  of  them,  and  I  longed  for  the  sound  of 
human  voices  and  the  touch  of  human  hands.  Alone 
and  in  the  darkness,  all  the  glory  of  battle  and  joy  of 
strife  faded  from  me. 

The  moon  was  out  and  threw  silver  bands  and  circles 
on  the  trees  and  grass,  but  in  the  pale  glimmer  the 
boughs  above  became  more  ghostly  and  seemed  to  wave 
at  me.  The  lights  on  the  field  began  to  diminish,  and 
soon  I  saw  none.  I  fell  through  pure  weakness  into  a 
sort  of  stupor,  and  was  aroused  from  it  by  the  tread  of 
heavy  feet. 

"  They  are  coming  for  me,  at  last!  "  were  the  un- 
spoken words  in  my  mind. 

But  the  beat  of  feet  was  too  rapid  and  heavy  for 
men.     Dozens  of  great  red  eyes  looked  at  me  through 


154  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  pale  light,  and  behind  the  eyes  I  saw  the  dim  out- 
lines of  gigantic  forms.  I  believed  myself  at  first  to  be 
dreaming,  but  then  I  knew  that  I  was  not.  I  knew  the 
trees  whose  boughs  bent  over  me,  the  curves  of  the 
ground,  and  yonder  was  the  same  pink  glow  that  told 
where  the  camp  lay. 

I  lifted  myself  upon  my  elbow  and  stared  at  the  red 
eyes.  The  figures  grew  clearer  in  the  dark,  and  I  saw  a 
troop  of  riderless  cavalry  horses,  forty,  fifty,  perhaps 
more,  all  with  the  saddles  yet  on  them,  and  some  with  a 
sabre  slash  or  the  track  of  a  pistol  ball  on  their  flanks. 
They  stood  before  me  in  regular  lines,  heads  erect,  mus- 
cles drawn,  eyes  flashing,  as  if  their  riders  still  rode 
them,  ready  for  the  charge.  It  seemed  to  me  that  every 
one  was  staring  straight  at  me,  and  I  remained  upon 
my  elbow  looking  into  the  long  line  of  eyes  that  threat- 
ened me.  I  was  in  a  chill  of  fear;  they  would  gallop 
over  my  body,  and  that  would  be  the  end,  the  worst 
death  of  all. 

I  shouted,  and  the  horses,  wheeling  about  as  if  di- 
rected by  a  leader,  galloped  away  in  ordered  ranks,  their 
hoofbeats  resounding  on  the  earth  until  they  died  away 
in  a  distant  echo. 

I  sank  back  and  was  glad  that  this  danger  had 
passed,  but  presently  I  heard  the  hoofbeats  again,  com- 
ing from  another  part  of  the  field  and  echoing  in  the* 
regular  tread  of  an  advancing  squadron.  On  came  the 
riderless  horses,  heads  erect,  eyes  glittering  through  the 
dark,  and  again  I  was  in  terror  lest  they  gallop  over 
me.  I  fancied  that  I  could  feel  their  breath  on  my 
face,  but  they  turned  a  second  time,  when  the  hoofs 
of  the  front  line  were  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  and  gal- 
loped away,  their  forms  again  fading  and  their  hoof- 
beats dying.  Perhaps  now  they  would  let  me  rest! 
In  a  few  minutes  they  came  back,  their  steel-shod 
hoofs  cutting  the  soft  earth,  and  great  eyes  staring  at 
the  prostrate  form  of  the  man  before  them.     I  won- 


A  STRAY  SHOT  155 

dered  why  they  worried  me  so  and  kept  me  in  such  in- 
cessant fear  of  death  under  their  weight.  Had  I  known 
it,  I  was  in  no  danger;  however  close  they  might  come 
to  me,  it  would  never  be  so  close  that  the  youngest 
of  them  all  would  plant  a  hoof  upon  me. 

They  came  back  again  and  again,  eyes  red,  flanks 
heaving,  and  always  stared  at  me  as  I  lay  there  in  the 
hollow.  My  fear  began  to  pass  by  and  bye,  and  their 
forms  became  dim.  A  veil  floated  down  over  my  eyes 
and  I  remembered  no  more. 


11 


CHAPTER   XIX 

WHEN   MT   EYES    OPENED 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  I  was  lying  in  a  com- 
fortable bed,  and,  except  a  mental  languor,  I  felt  as 
well  as  usual.  I  sought  to  move,  but  a  sharp  pain  from 
my  right  leg  shot  upward  through  my  body  and  bade  me 
keep  quiet.  Then  I  looked  around  and  saw  that  I  was 
in  my  own  room,  the  room  that  had  been  mine  for  more 
than  fifteen  years.  Every  familiar  object  was  in  its 
place,  and  there  in  the  chair  by  the  window  was  Madam 
Arlington,  my  grandmother,  quite  unchanged,  wearing 
a  dark  gray  dress,  a  white  cap  drawn  tightly  over  her 
gray  curls.  She  was  sitting  with  the  side  of  her  face 
turned  to  me,  and  once  more,  as  I  had  often  done,  I 
admired  the  strength  of  her  features,  the  courage  and 
resolution  shown  in  every  curve. 

My  first  emotion,  bewildered  and  vague  though  it 
was,  expressed  devout  gratitude  and  thankfulness.  My 
eyes  had  closed  on  the  bloody  wilderness  of  Shiloh,  and 
they  opened  here  on  this  peaceful  scene. 

I  must  have  made  a  slight  movement,  one  that  could 
be  heard,  as  my  grandmother  rose  from  her  chair  and 
came  to  my  bedside.  Her  eyes  met  mine  and  I  saw  the 
joy  in  them,  but  otherwise  she  repressed  all  emotion. 
In  truth,  Madam  Arlington  was  never  a  demonstrative 
woman. 

"  You  are  in  your  right  mind  again,  Henry,  and  I 
can  give  thanks/'  she  said.  "  You  have  talked  of 
156 


WHEN  MY  EYES  OPENED  157 

strange  scenes  and  awful  battlefields,  but,  please  God, 
you  shall  now  rest." 

"  How  did  I  come  here,  grandmother?  "  I  asked, 
and  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  weak  was  my  voice. 

"  It  was  William  Penn.  You  owe  your  life  to  him. 
After  he  took  you  that  message  he  returned  to  follow 
again  behind  the  army.  He  wished  to  go,  and  I — a 
foolish  old  woman  I  thought  myself  then — told  him 
that  he  might.  He  saw  part  of  the  great  battle,  and  he 
says  that  it  was  the  most  terrible  scene  in  all  the  world 
— he  is  right,  I  know.  When  they  grew  tired  of  killing 
each  other  he  went  to  your  regiment  and  asked  for  you, 
but  you  were  not  there.  Then  he  hunted  over  the  field 
until  he  found  you  in  a  little  hollow,  and  they  say  you 
would  have  died  if  he  had  not  come.  A  big  soldier — 
Steptoe,  or  something  like  that  was  his  name — who 
seemed  to  care  very  much  for  you,  helped  William  Penn, 
and  he  came  away  with  you.  He  travelled  slowly,  but 
he  brought  you  in  two  days  from  Shiloh  to  your  own 
home." 

I  wished  to  ask  questions,  but  Madam  Arlington, 
with  that  old,  stern  air  that  she  had  often  worn  when  I 
was  a  lad  of  ten  or  twelve,  bade  me  be  silent.  Then  she 
brought  me  food  which  I  ate  with  a  good  appetite,  and 
after  that  I  was  ordered  to  remain  quiet  and  sleep  if  I 
could,  while  she  resumed  her  seat  by  the  window. 

I  felt  happy  somehow.  I  think  it  was  the  contrast 
between  the  scene  on  which  my  eyes  closed  and  that  on 
which  they  awakened.  My  bed  lay  where  I  could  see 
the  flowers  on  the  lawn  through  an  angle  of  the  window, 
and  presently  William  Penn,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  a 
small  garden  hoe  on  his  shoulder,  passed  my  line  of 
vision.  The  old  hero!  A  great  bar  of  sunlight  enter- 
ing the  window  lay  across  the  floor.  A  fly  hummed 
peacefully  against  the  curtain.  Shiloh  seemed  far 
away,  vague  and  unreal,  and  this  was  like  my  boyhood. 

I  fell  asleep  presently  and  when  I  awoke  again  the 


158  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

sunlight  was  fading  before  the  misty  gray  of  twilight. 
I  heard  the  rustle  of  a  skirt  and  a  light  step;  when 
I  turned  my  head  I  saw  no  one.  My  grandmother  came 
back  presently,  carrying  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  but  the 
step  that  I  had  heard  seemed  to  me  more  elastic  than 
that  of  any  woman  of  sixty-five. 

Madam  Arlington  must  have  read  my  look  of  in- 
quiry, as  she  raised  her  finger  prohibitively.  Neverthe- 
less, I  asked: 

"  Was  not  some  one  here,  grandmother?  " 

"  Undoubtedly/'  she  replied,  a  gleam  of  humour  ap- 
pearing in  her  eyes.  "  You  were  here.  I  don't  think 
you  could  have  left." 

"  But  some  one,  neither  you  nor  I,"  I  insisted. 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  grandmother.  "  She  asked  me 
not  to  tell  and  I  promised.  It  was  Elinor  Maynard. 
It  is  not  the  first  time  that  she  has  been  in  this  house 
since  you  arrived.  In  fact  she  has  been  here  nearly  all 
the  time,  and  she  came  with  you." 

"  Came  with  me!  "  I  exclaimed  in  wonder. 

"  Yes,  came  with  you.  When  William  Penn  found 
you  and  started  home  with  you  he  sent  word  for  her. 
Ah,  that  William  Penn  is  a  wiser  man  than  you  or 
perhaps  I  ever  thought  he  was.  She  met  you  on  the 
way:  and  if  you  owe  your  life  to  William  Penn,  you  owe 
it  to  her  too.  But  I  always  knew  that  she  was  the  best 
girl  in  all  this  world.  Now,  not  another  word,  you  have 
enough  to  think  over,  perhaps  too  much." 

I  could  have  smiled  any  other  time  at  Madam 
Arlington's  calling  Elinor  the  best  girl  in  the  world, 
when  years  ago  she  had  forbidden  me  to  know  the  ter- 
rible little  Yankee,  the  representative  of  strange  and 
uncouth  doctrines.  Yet  my  good  grandmother  would 
have  denied  all  charges  of  inconsistency. 

She  left  the  room  presently  and  I  obeyed  her  order 
to  think  over  what  I  had  heard.  She  had  spoken  truly 
when  she  said  that  it  was  enough.     My  thoughts  were 


WHEN  MY  EYES  OPENED  159 

more  pleasant  than  ever,  and  I  confess  that  they  were 
more  of  Elinor  than  of  "William  Penn  or  Madam 
Arlington. 

It  was  "William  Penn  who  brought  me  my  supper, 
and  when  I  told  him  how  grateful  I  was  for  his  saving 
my  life  he  shook  his  head  again  and  again  with  great 
emphasis. 

"  I  was  glad  enough  to  get  away  from  that  dreadful 
field/'  he  said.  "  I  saw  the  battle,  Henry,  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance, I  am  thankful  to  say!  and  may  the  Lord  save  me 
from  another  such  sight.  I  hope  that  I  shall  never 
become  of  such  little  use  that  they  will  think  of  making 
a  soldier  of  me." 

I  did  not  see  Elinor  for  a  day,  but  my  grandmother 
told  me  more  of  her  the  next  morning.  Her  aunt,  Mrs. 
Maynard,  forbade  her  visits  to  our  house,  but  Elinor 
came  nevertheless.  The  strange  prejudice  of  Mrs.  May- 
nard against  me  seemed  to  be  growing.  She  had  re- 
solved that  her  niece  should  marry  Colonel  Varian. 
She  seemed  to  be  completely  under  his  spell,  and  he 
fed  her  ambition  too,  because  she  thought  that  he 
would  be  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  new  Southern 
republic.  She  was  furious  when  Elinor  came  to  help 
bring  me  back  home,  but  she  could  not  prevent  it,  and 
only  Elinor's  courage  and  will  enabled  her  to  defy  her 
aunt's  threats.  All  these  things  Madam  Arlington  told 
me  in  a  voice  in  which  anger  and  indignation  always 
appeared,  and  I  knew  that  Elinor  had  at  least  one  war- 
like friend. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  that  Elinor  came  to  me,  pale 
and  quiet.  She  gave  me  her  hand  very  simply  and  did 
not  seek  to  withdraw  it. 

"  Elinor,"  I  said,  "  I  know  that  you  helped  William 
Penn  to  bring  me  here." 

"  Should  I  not  have  done  so  ?  "  she  asked,  the  red 
creeping  into  her  cheeks. 

"  Would  you  have  gone  thus  for  Yarian?  " 


160  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  You  ask  too  many  questions.  Tell  me  of  the 
battle.     We  have  had  little  true  news  of  it." 

Yet  I  believed  now  that  she  would  not  have  gone 
for  Varian,  that  from  the  first  she  had  feared  and  not 
liked  him.  And  I  was  happy  in  the  thought.  Then  I 
talked  of  Shiloh.  I  told  of  the  surprise  in  the  great 
woods;  the  apparition  of  the  Southern  army  springing 
from  the  thickets;  the  long  fight  of  the  day  when  we 
were  steadily  pushed  backward;  the  drunken  squad's 
last  stand;  the  passage  of  the  second  army  over  the  river 
in  the  night;  the  battle  of  the  second  day,  and  my  own 
misadventure.  She  listened  to  it  all  with  a  flushed 
cheek,  and  when  I  described  the  drunken  squad's  last 
stand,  she  said: 

"  At  least  they  had  courage  and  devotion,  if  nothing 
else." 

Madam  Arlington  entered  at  this  moment  and  was 
properly  indignant. 

"  Too  much  talking,"  she  said;  "  and  talking  is  not 
good  for  a  wounded  man." 

Then  she  sent  Elinor  out  of  the  room  and  bade  me 
go  to  sleep.  Thus  several  days  passed  and  my  injuries 
healed  rapidly.  They  were  attended  by  a  good  doctor, 
the  man  who  had  piloted  me  through  most  of  my  youth- 
ful ailments,  and  I  was  helped  by  a  strong  constitution 
and  the  best  of  nursing.  Elinor  came  to  see  me  three 
times,  and  I  learned  now  what  a  help  it  is  to  a  young 
man  in  love  to  be  wounded  in  battle.  My  grandmother 
was  constitutionally  a  woman  of  even  temperament,  but 
I  had  not  seen  her  so  happy  in  years,  and  I  soon 
discovered  the  cause.  She  was  conducting  a  furious 
epistolary  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Maynard  on  the 
subject  of  Elinor,  who  had  been  forbidden  repeatedly  to 
come  to  our  house,  but  who  came  nevertheless.  As 
Madam  Arlington  was  having  her  way,  she  enjoyed  the 
controversy  to  the  utmost.  Yet  I  was  remorseful.  I 
could  not  bear  the  thought  that  Elinor  should  be  made 


WHEN  MY  EYES  OPENED  161 

unhappy  at  her  home  on  my  account,  and  once  I  ap- 
proached the  subject,  but  she  warned  me  away. 

"  My  aunt  has  intentions  which  are  not  mine,"  she 
said.  "  I  shall  be  compelled  to  disobey  her  in  more 
than  one  respect." 

I  could  not  say  more;  but  I  remained  troubled 
about  her,  although  feeling  a  secret  delight  at  her  dis- 
obedience. 

The  day  after  this  I  heard  a  heavy  step  at  the  door, 
and  a  thickset  man  entered  the  room.     It  was  Shaftoe. 

"  Still  on  your  back  when  you  ought  to  be  chasing 
armies!  "  he  said,  with  unconcealed  joy.  "  How  do 
you  expect  Grant  to  win  battles  when  he  hasn't  got  you 
with  him?  " 

He  was  redolent  of  strength  and  life  in  the  open  air, 
and  I  listened  eagerly  to  his  budget  of  news.  Grant 
had  been  following  the  Southern  army  since  Shiloh,  he 
said,  and  gathering  reinforcements  for  other  combats. 
He  really  thought  that  Grant  knew  something  about 
commanding  troops  and  was  not  a  mere  political  gen- 
eral. Affairs  were  going  badly  in  the  East,  but  they 
were  in  our  favour  in  the  West.  The  one  was  a  set-off  to 
the  other,  and  nothing  was  sure  except  that  it  would  be 
a  huge  war. 

"  I  got  a  short  leave  of  absence,"  said  Shaftoe;  "  and 
as  it  isn't  far  up  here,  I've  slipped  across  the  country  to 
see  you.  I  met  two  women  before  I  came  in  here. 
One  was  young,  and  she  has  the  prettiest  face  that 
I've  ever  seen.  I  remember  her  in  Washington,  but  I 
did  not  notice  her  so  closely  then.  I'm  thinking  she's 
the  girl,  Henry.  The  other  was  old — and  I  want  to  give 
you  a  piece  of  advice  right  now,  Henry — never  argue 
politics  with  a  woman.  She  doesn't  keep  to  the  rules  at 
all,  and  proof  that  might  convince  the  most  reasonable 
man  in  the  world  is  nothing  to  her.  The  old  lady  saw 
my  blue  uniform,  and  she  didn't  like  it — flew  into  a 
tantrum — said  I  was  a  robber  and  a  murderer,  coming 


162  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

down  here  to  kill  good  Southerners  and  take  away  their 
property.  I  said  that  my  uniform  was  of  the  same  col- 
our that  you  wore,  and  that  I  was  your  particular 
friend.  Then  she  relented  and  let  me  come  in,  though 
I'm  not  sure  that  she's  not  watching  somewhere  to  see 
that  I  don't  kill  you." 

I  laughed,  and  subsequently  had  the  pleasure,  when 
I  introduced  Shaftoe  to  my  grandmother,  to  see  that 
they  got  along  well  together.  He  was  wise  enough  to 
accede  in  silence  to  all  her  opinions,  and  to  take  his  re- 
bukes with  a  contrite  spirit.  I  think  that  he  would  have 
risen  high  in  her  good  graces — she  even  had  hope  of 
converting  him — but  he  would  stay  only  a  few  hours, 
being  compelled  to  leave  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day. 

"  However,  I  shall  send  a  friend  to  represent  me," 
he  said,  with  a  twinkling  eye. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  I  asked  with  curiosity. 

"  The  Eev.  Elkanah  Armstrong,"  he  replied.  "  The 
Eev.  Elkanah  became  too  zealous  for  the  conversion 
of  the  rebels  in  some  of  the  recent  skirmishing  and 
got  a  bullet  in  his  left  shoulder.  It  was  not  a  serious 
wound,  but  he  will  have  to  rest,  and  I  recommended 
this  neighbourhood  to  him,  thinking  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  you  both.  He  is  at  the  little  hotel  down  at 
the  village,  and,  wound  or  no  wound,  he  is  ready  to 
preach  to  anybody  who  will  listen." 

Shaftoe  left  an  hour  later,  and  Mr.  Armstrong  came 
the  next  day,  his  shoulder  in  a  bandage,  but  as  eager 
and  zealous  as  ever.  I  found  him  good  company,  and 
through  respect  for  his  cloth  my  grandmother  refrained 
from  criticising  his  position  in  the  war. 


CHAPTEE   XX 


A    BENEFICENT    JAILER 


I  was  almost  able  to  walk  again  when  Elinor  en- 
tered my  room,  showing  excitement. 

"  0  Henry,"  she  said,  "  if  you  could  only  leave 
now!  " 

"  I  am  doing  very  well.     Why  should  I  hurry?  " 

"  The  Southern  troops  have  come." 

Then  she  told  me  news  at  which  I  should  not  have 
been  surprised,  owing  to  the  unsettled  character  of  our 
State  and  the  doubtful  nature  of  all  territory  not  direct- 
ly occupied  by  either  army.  A  considerable  Southern 
force  coming  from  the  southeast  had  passed  in  the  rear 
of  the  Northern  army  and  invaded  our  region. 

"  And  who  do  you  think  is  its  commander?  "  asked 
Elinor. 

I  could  not  guess. 

"  Colonel  Varian,"  she  replied,  "  and  Aunt  Ellen  is 
exultant.  She  says  that  the  Northern  army  is  soon  to 
be  defeated,  and  that  never  again  will  it  invade  the 
South." 

A  detachment  of  Southern  troops  arrived  that  night, 
and  its  commander  entered  my  room. 

"What!  Henry  Kingsford  here,  and  wounded,  and 
my  prisoner!  "  exclaimed  a  mellow  voice.  "  You  have 
only  yourself  to  blame.  Did  I  not  warn  you?  Did  I 
not  tell  you  in  Washington  that  the  fire  and  spirit  of  the 
South  would  overcome  all  obstacles?     You  did  fairly 

163 


164  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

well  at  Shiloh,  but  that  was  a  trifle,  sir.  We  shall  sweep 
the  Yankee  chaff  into  the  sea;  we  shall  devour  it  like  a 
fire  in  dry  grass." 

The  man  who  showed  so  much  enthusiasm  and 
mixed  his  metaphors  so  finely  was  Major  Titus  Tyler, 
ruddy,  healthy,  and  evidently  glad  to  see  me,  his  pris- 
oner though  I  was. 

"  Henry/'  he  repeated,  "  it  fills  my  soul  with  delight 
to  meet  you  again.  I  heard  that  a  Yankee  was  here, 
but  I  did  not  know  it  was  you,  although  I  should  have 
guessed  it,  as  this  is  the  house  of  your  grandmother — a 
most  noble  specimen  of  the  womanhood  of  the  old 
school.  Ah,  if  she  were  only  a  few  years  younger — no, 
if  I  were  only  a  few  years  older — God  bless  my  soul!  I 
do  not  mean  to  be  ungallant — I  might  stand  in  a  rela- 
tionship to  you  that  would  give  me  a  right  to  bring  you 
to  your  senses.  The  Lord  never  meant  for  you  to  be  a 
Yankee,  Henry;  that's  the  reason  he  gave  you  that 
wound,  and  put  }T>u  here  out  of  the  reach  of  harm.  It 
was  the  only  way  to  keep  you  from  making  a  permanent 
fool  of  yourself." 

I  did  not  wish  to  be  a  prisoner,  but  since  I  had  be- 
come one  I  was  glad  that  my  jailer  was  Major  Titus 
Tyler.  He  brought  with  him  a  breeze  of  good  humour. 
He  delighted  my  grandmother  with  his  ornate  courtesy 
and  absolute  confidence  in  the  complete  triumph  of  the 
South.  When  I  introduced  him  formally  to  Madam 
Arlington  he  bent  halfway  to  the  floor,  and  kissing  her 
hand,  said: 

"  Madam,  I  bow  to  a  true  representative  of  the  glori- 
ous old  South  which  we  both  love  and  honour." 

"  Major,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  only  an  old  woman,  but 
I  hope  that  I  am  a  true  patriot." 

"  Madam,"  he  continued,  "  you  cruelly  abuse  your- 
self when  you  say  '  old  woman.'  There  are  a  few  rare 
beings  who  remain  forever  young.  I  trust  that  it  is 
needless  for  me  to  say  more."    . 


A  BENEFICENT  JAILER  165 

He  was  full  of  gossip,  and  half  of  it  was  about 
Varian,  under  whose  command  he  was,  and  who,  he  said, 
was  proving  himself  to  be  a  soldier  of  genius  and  a  man 
of  power.  If  his  advice  had  been  followed  the  battle  of 
Shiloh  would  have  resulted  in  a  great  Southern  victory. 
Even  now  he  was  organizing  dashing  cavalry  raids, 
which  would  cut  off  the  Northern  forces  from  all  their 
communications  and  drive  them  into  a  corner,  where 
their  defeat  would  be  a  matter  of  course.  His  value  in 
the  field  was  equalled  only  by  his  worth  in  the  Cabinet, 
and  when  the  time  was  ripe  he  was  sure  to  bring  Eng- 
land and  France  to  the  help  of  the  South.  All  Europe 
was  for  the  South;  and  the  two  great  warlike  nations 
there,  the  one  with  the  naval  force  and  the  other  with 
the  land  force,  were  only  waiting  the  word  to  interfere. 
But  the  South  felt  some  hesitation  about  accepting  help, 
as  she  did  not  wish  to  divide  the  honour  of  thrashing 
the  Yankees.  De  Courcelles,  he  said,  was  with  Varian. 
He  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  temptation  of  win- 
ning glory,  and  he  enlisted,  behaving  like  a  hero  at 
Shiloh.  Pembroke  and  Tourville  were  in  the  East  with 
Lee,  but  he  had  not  heard  from  them  in  a  long  time. 
Then  he  reverted  to  Shiloh,  where  he  had  fought  under 
Varian. 

"  It  was  a  great  battle,  Henry,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
we  failed  to  win  a  victory  only  because  our  leader, 
Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  was  killed.  History  will 
say  so." 

I  did  not  know  what  history,  which  has  many  voices, 
would  say,  but  I  could  not  argue  his  pet  point  with  the 
major. 

No  prisoner  ever  had  a  more  lenient  captor  than  I. 
It  was  my  convenience  and  not  his  own  that  he  seemed 
to  consult.  And  "  Would  I  object  to  this?  "  and  "  Only 
the  necessity  of  war  compels  me  to  curtail  your  liberty, 
Henry,"  and  "  You  know  that  I  think  of  you  as  a  son 
and  not  as  an  enemy."     But  he  did  not  neglect  his  own 


166  IN  CIRCLING   CAMPS 

comfort.  Major  Titus  Tyler  was  a  wise  man,  accus- 
tomed to  the  best  his  world  afforded,  and  all  the  luxu- 
ries that  the  house  contained  were  soon  at  his  service. 
They  were  offered,  too,  with  a  willing  and  generous 
hand.  He  remained  a  prime  favourite  with  my  grand- 
mother, who  saw  to  it  personally  that  he  had  the  finest. 
He  described  to  her  in  glowing  language  the  glories 
of  the  far  South.  We  in  Kentucky  lived  more  after 
the  Northern  fashion,  households  seldom  being  luxuri- 
ous; and  the  major  told  us  how  different  was  a  home 
on  the  great  plantations  in  the  Gulf  States. 

"  And  I  tell  you,  my  dear  Madam  Arlington,"  he 
said,  "  that  among  civilized  human  beings  only  two 
kinds  of  government  have  any  degree  of  permanency — a 
monarchy  and  an  aristocratic  republic.  Day  labourers 
and  workmen,  and,  in  fact,  all  people  who  are  absorbed 
in  daily  business,  can  not  develop  a  faculty  for  the 
higher  forms  of  government.  It  needs  leisure,  madam; 
and  none  have  leisure  and  at  the  same  time  a  great  stake 
in  the  country  save  the  wealthy  landed  gentry.  The 
North,  with  its  shopkeepers  and  mechanics,  must  fall 
to  pieces." 

He  found  a  willing  disciple  in  my  grandmother,  who 
all  her  life  had  been  a  firm  believer  in  the  exclusive  vir- 
tues of  a  landed  aristocracy;  and  I,  having  learned  wis- 
dom, kept  silent.  He  also  preached  his  gospel  to  Eli- 
nor, who,  I  think,  did  not  consider  the  subject  the  most 
important  of  the  universe. 

"  What  a  woman  she  is  growing  to  be!  "  said  Major 
Tyler  to  me.  "  God  bless  my  soul!  but  the  South 
of  my  youth  could  boast  no  finer.  I  don't  know,  I  don't 
know,  perhaps  I'm  not  too  old  yet,  and  the  South  will 
soon  end  this " 

I  reminded  him  that  he  would  commit  bigamy  if  he 
married  both  my  grandmother  and  Elinor. 

"  Don't  be  jealous,  Henry,"  he  said,  laughing  with 
great  zest;  "  I'm  no  Mormon.    In  fact,  I'm  not  a  marry- 


A  BENEFICENT  JAILER  167 

ing  man  at  all;  but  if  I  were,  maybe  I  could  show  you 
boys  a  trick  or  two." 

And  he  threw  back  his  shoulders,  straightened  his 
cravat,  and  examined  himself  in  the  glass  with  evident 
pleasure. 

Everything  went  very  smoothly  with  Major  Titus 
Tyler  until  the  Eev.  Elkanah  Armstrong  came  to 
see  me  again.  Being  a  minister  and  theoretically  a 
noncombatant,  Mr.  Armstrong  was  entirely  free  from 
danger  of  molestation,  and  he  was  also  the  kind  of  man 
who  would  not  hesitate  to  express  his  opinions  without 
regard  to  time  or  place. 

"  Sheer  folly!  sheer  folly,  sir!  "  he  said  to  Major 
Tyler.  "  You  have  set  up  a  certain  number  of  theories 
that  you  want  to  believe,  and  you  have  tried  so  hard  to 
make  yourself  believe  them  that  you  have  succeeded  at 
last.  I  tell  you,  sir,  that  not  one  of  your  doctrines, 
however  true  it  may  have  been  in  the  beginning,  will 
serve  as  a  dam  against  the  flood  of  changes  that  time 
brings." 

Major  Tyler  was  astounded  at  this  rough  reply,  and 
he  confided  to  me  later  his  belief  that  Mr.  Armstrong 
was  not  a  gentleman.  "  The  man  is  lacking  in  breed- 
ing and  also  those  instincts  which  indicate  good  blood," 
he  said,  "  and  I  refuse,  sir,  to  argue  important  political 
and  social  questions  with  one  so  far  beneath  me."  Hav- 
ing assumed  this  attitude,  which  gave  him  great  con- 
solation, he  was  able  to  tolerate  the  minister,  and  affairs 
again  assumed  their  tranquil  progress  under  the  roof  of 
Madam  Arlington.  The  major's  detachment  consisted 
of  only  six  soldiers^who  were  quartered  about  the  place, 
my  grandmother  in  her  intense  loyalty  to  the  Southern 
cause  receiving  them  willingly.  The  major,  although 
he  gave  various  grand  reasons,  did  not  know  why  he  was 
there.  Varian,  who  was  farther  to  the  eastward,  he 
said,  was  preparing  a  heavy  blow  at  the  Northern  army, 
and  he,  Major  Titus  Tyler,  was  to  have  an  important 


168  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

share  in  it.  I  suspected,  however,  that  the  personal 
interests  of  Varian  had  something  to  do  with  the  occu- 
pation of  my  grandmother's  house,  but  I  remained 
silent. 

As  I  grew  better  Elinor's  visits  became  fewer  and 
briefer.  I  had  not  seen  her  for  a  week,  when,  at  last,  I 
was  able  to  walk  across  the  hall.  The  doctor  came  that 
day  and  said  it  would  be  his  final  visit. 

"  In  a  little  time  you  will  be  as  well  as  ever,"  he 
said,  "  and  be  able  to  run  as  fast  as  any  other  Yankee 
from  our  troops." 

The  major  added  that  he  would  allow  me  the  liberty 
of  the  house,  but  I  must  not  attempt  to  go  farther. 

"  If  you  should  try  to  escape  I  shall  be  under  the 
dreadful  necessity  of  ordering  one  of  my  men  to  shoot 
you,  Henry,"  he  said;  "  and,  God  bless  my  soul,  what 
a  catastrophe  that  would  be!  " 

I  looked  from  the  hall  door  at  the  fresh  greenness  of 
the  earth  and  sunshine  of  the  skies,  and  thought  what 
a  misfortune  it  was  to  be  shut  a  long  time  within 
doors.  As  I  turned  away  I  met  Elinor,  and  I  seized 
her  hand  eagerly. 

"You  have  come  once  more!"  I  said.  "I  was 
afraid  that  I  would  not  see  you  again." 

But  she  drew  her  hand  away  shyly,  and  replied: 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  Madam  Arlington." 

She  ran  to  my  grandmother's  apartment,  leaving  me 
there,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Varian 
arrived.  I  was  in  my  own  room  when  he  entered — a 
splendid  figure  in  a  fine  Southern  uniform,  unstained 
by  use,  his  sword  at  his  side. 

"  Believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
again,  Mr.  Kingsford,  and  to  see  you  well,"  he  said,  ex- 
tending his  hand,  which  I  took.  "  I  hope  that  my  rep- 
resentative, Major  Tyler,  has  not  made  affairs  difficult 
for  you  here.  It  would  be  a  rough  jest,  in  truth,  if  a 
man  were  straitened  in  his  own  house." 


A  BENEFICENT  JAILER  169 

I  assured  him  that  I  had  received  only  kindness 
from  Major  Tyler,  who  was  an  old  friend  of  mine. 

"  I  knew  that  he  was  such,  and  for  that  reason  I  sent 
him  here,"  said  Varian. 

He  spoke  then  of  the  war  and  its  progress,  enlarging 
upon  the  Southern  successes  in  the  East,  and  predicting 
brilliant  victories  for  his  cause  in  the  West;  he  called 
my  attention  to  his  prophecies  when  we  were  together 
in  Washington,  but  I  saw  that  his  mind  was  not  upon 
those  matters,  that  he  used  them  merely  as  an  approach 
to  something  else. 

"  I  shall  speak  to  you  of  a  delicate  subject,  Mr. 
Kingsford,"  he  said  presently,  "  and  I  do  it  with  the 
more  freedom  because  I  believe  that  you  have  known 
the  lady  since  childhood  and  are  a  friend  of  the  family." 

"  I  doubt  whether  I  am  the  right  man  to  receive 
your  confidences,"  I  replied,  foreseeing  well  what  he 
would  say. 

"  In  brief,  I  am  thinking  of  getting  married  despite 
the  war,"  he  continued,  seeming  not  to  notice  my  words, 
"  and  the  lady  is  Miss  Maynard,  as  you  perhaps  have 
guessed.  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  be  received  with 
great  favour  by  her  aunt  and  guardian,  Mrs.  Maynard, 
and  that,  I  believe,  would  be  decisive  in  most  countries. 
Doubtless  it  will  have  its  weight  here,  especially  as  I 
am  with  hope  that  my  addresses  are  not  unwelcome 
to  Miss  Maynard  herself.  It  may  be  that  after  the  war 
I  shall  take  her  to  Paris  or  London.  She  would  adorn 
the  finest  court  in  Europe." 

He  spoke  with  an  appearance  of  great  fervour,  and 
seemed  to  take  no  note  of  my  countenance,  as  if  he  were 
a  young  man  confiding  his  hopes  to  his  best  friend.  I 
am  glad  that  I  was  able  to  remain  impassive,  and  I 
took  a  sudden,  resolution  to  match  his  own  assurance. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  not  wish  you  success,  Colonel 
Varian,"  I  replied;  "  but  I  intend  to  marry  Miss  May- 
nard myself,  if  I  can." 


170  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  You  are  frank,"  he  said,  frowning. 

"  Not  more  so  than  you." 

"  Then  you  mean  that  it  shall  be  a  contest  be- 
tween us." 

"  You  have  long  known  that  it  is  so." 

He  was  silent  a  while,  and  then  he  added: 

"  If  it  is  to  be  a  contest,  as  it  certainly  will  be,  you 
must  admit  that  you  are  at  a  great  disadvantage.  You 
are  here  the  prisoner  of  your  rival." 

"  It  is  true,  but  one  does  not  have  to  live  long  to 
know  that  Fortune  has  many  faces,  and  she  sometimes 
turns  one  and  then  another  to  a  man." 

"  I  see  that  I  shall  have  an  enemy  who  is  worth 
conquering." 

He  said  no  more,  and  after  paying  his  respects  to 
my  grandmother,  left  for  his  headquarters.  Madam 
Arlington  liked  him.  His  manners,  she  said,  indicated 
that  he  was  a  great  soldier.  Major  Tyler  came  to  me 
the  next  morning  in  much  grief. 

"  I  must  leave  you,  Henry,"  he  said,  "  and  we  were 
getting  along  so  peacefully  too.  You  gave  me  no 
trouble  at  all,  and  this  is  a  campaign  to  my  liking.  But 
I  must  go  South  on  other  service.  A  man  named  Blan- 
chard  is  to  succeed  me  in  the  command  here,  and  I  have 
recommended  you  to  him  as  a  model  prisoner." 

The  major  left  a  few  hours  later,  much  to  his  regret 
and  ours.  Madam  Arlington  bade  him  adieu  with  real 
sorrow. 

"  If  my  hopes  for  the  South  have  wavered  at  any 
time  you  have  restored  them,  Major  Tyler,"  she  said. 

"  I  shall  come  again,  madam,"  he  replied;  "  and  I 
trust  that  it  shall  be  with  glory.  I  bore  my  part  in  the 
Mexican  war,  and  I  hope  to  do  as  well  in  this  greater 
struggle." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE     TIME     TO     ACT 

Blanchard  arrived  in  the  evening,  and  the  easy 
days  at  our  house  were  over.  He  was  a  captain  now, 
and  he  bade  me  gruffly  to  keep  to  my  room.  "  We  want 
no  spies  on  our  movements,"  he  said.  My  grandmother 
came  to  me  a  little  later  in  a  great  state  of  indignation, 
and  said  that  he  had  taken  the  best  room  in  the  house, 
bearing  himself  as  if  he  were  master. 

"  So  he  is,  I'm  afraid,"  I  replied.  "  You  see,  grand- 
mother, we  have  improved  upon  the  old  story.  We  get 
King  Stork  where  we  had  King  Log,  before  we  even 
make  a  complaint." 

Blanchard  also  increased  the  stringency  of  the 
guard,  acting  as  if  I  were  a  prisoner  of  great  importance. 
He  roughly  refused  to  answer  questions,  and  when  I 
threatened  to  complain  to  higher  officers  of  his  inso- 
lence, he  replied  with  a  grin,  "  Send  your  complaint  to 
Colonel  Varian."  I  counselled  my  grandmother  to  use 
forbearance,  but  she  attacked  Blanchard  within  my 
hearing,  telling  him  that  his  conduct  was  infamous,  and 
in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  his  predecessor,  that  true 
Southern  gentleman,  Major  Titus  Tyler.  Blanchard 
smiled,  showing  that  he  relished  it.  I  felt  like  striking 
the  man,  but  such  an  act  in  my  position  would  have 
been  madness.  He  stationed,  on  the  second  day,  a 
sentinel  with  a  rifle  at  the  door  of  my  room  and  said 
that  I  was  never  to  go  outside  unless  at  his  order.  My 
12  171 


172  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

grandmother  was  in  a  rage,  but  he  replied  only  with  his 
provoking  smile. 

"  Yon  wish  to  be  as  troublesome  as  possible,  Mr. 
Blanehard,"  I  said. 

"  Captain  Blanehard,  if  you  please." 

"  I  repeat,  Mr.  Blanehard,  that  you  are  uselessly 
troublesome/' 

"  If  it  pleases  you  to  think  so,  you  are  welcome," 
he  replied. 

"  I  suppose  that  all  this  is  by  the  orders  of  Colonel 
Varian,"  I  continued. 

"  You  can  suppose  whatever  you  wish,"  he  re- 
sponded in  surly  fashion. 

I  was  able  to  keep  my  temper  perfectly,  and,  looking 
him  squarely  in  the  eyes,  I  asked: 

"  Mr.  Blanehard,  an  assassin  fired  several  shots  at 
me  from  ambush  when  I  was  here,  before  the  battle  of 
Shiloh.     What  do  you  know  about  it?  " 

He  flushed,  and  then  replied  quite  composedly: 

"  The  name  of  the  man  who  fired  them  is  Pal- 
more.  He  is  well  and  I've  no  doubt  will  thank  you 
for  the  inquiry  about  his  health.  He  shall  be  here 
to-morrow." 

He  was  an  old  enemy,  one  of  our  county  scamps, 
whom  some  testimony  of  mine  had  once  helped  to 
send  to  jail,  and  to  whom  the  war  with  its  destruction 
of  law  brought  opportunity.  I  saw"  readily  that  he  had 
become  the  willing  tool  of  Blanehard,  eager  to  use  his 
chance  to  do  me  harm.  He  was  a  tall  fellow,  with 
heavy  shoulders,  a  bullet  head,  and  a  red,  ugly  face. 

I  found  this  man  in  the  morning  on  watch  at  my 
door  in  place  of  the  sentinel  who  had  been  there  the  day 
before.  His  expression  was  a  mixture  of  hatred  and 
triumph. 

"  So,  Mr.  Palmore,"  I  said,  "  you  tried  to  shoot 
me?" 

"  I  did,  but  my  shots  were  cursedly  poor." 


THE  TIME  TO  ACT  173 

He  seemed  to  feel  no  sense  of  shame  for  his  guilt, 
and  I  said  nothing  more  to  him.  My  imprisonment 
soon  grew  fearfully  irksome.  I  was  allowed  to  go  out- 
side at  intervals  only,  and  then  under  armed  guard. 
Elinor  did  not  come  again,  and  the  meagre  news  that  we 
could  obtain  of  her  was  alarming.  It  was  William  Penn 
who  brought  it.  He  said  that  she  was  restricted  to  the 
house  by  Mrs.  Maynard,  and  that  Varian,  who  now  bore 
himself  as  master  of  the  place,  was  often  there.  A  girl 
could  not  be  constrained  of  her  liberty  in  peace  times, 
but  those  were  not  peace  times. 

"  The  woman  means  to  make  her  marry  Colonel 
Varian,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  and  I  am  astonished 
that  Ellen  Maynard  has  shown  such  good  taste.  Colo- 
nel Varian  is  handsome,  brilliant,  and  distinguished." 

Yet  my  grandmother  was  devoted  to  my  cause,  and 
nothing  served  me  better  with  her  than  the  opposition 
of  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"  You  shall  have  news  of  the  girl,"  she  said,  "  even 
if  William  Penn  has  to  get  shot  in  finding  it." 

William  Penn  obtained  the  news  and  he  did  not  get 
shot.  He  brought  me  my  meals  regularly,  and  took 
advantage  of  this  to  report  to  me  two  days  later  that  he 
had  been  to  the  Maynard  house  and  had  talked  with  a 
servant.  Elinor  was  not  allowed  to  leave  her  room,  her 
aunt  saying  that  it  was  for  her  own  good.  Varian  and 
not  less  than  twenty  soldiers  were  there,  and  he  heard 
among  them  that  Colonel  Varian  was  to  marry  Miss 
Maynard  very  soon. 

I  could  have  struck  my  fist  against  the  wall  in  my 
anger  and  impotence.  A  girl  could  not  be  forced  into  a 
marriage  in  a  free  country  at  this  time,  but  she  might 
be  compelled  to  choose  it.  There  are  many  ways  to 
drive  a  girl  against  her  will,  as  everybody  knows.  I 
walked  to  the  door  and  the  scoundrel  Palmore  stood  on 
guard,  rifle  in  hand. 

"  Don't  try  to  come  out,  Mr.  Kingsford,"  he  said, 


174  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

reading  the  look  on  my  face,  "  or  I  shall  have  to  shoot 
you." 

"  And  you  would  be  glad  of  the  chance,"  I  said. 

His  face  was  distorted  into  a  hideous  grin. 

I  went  back  slamming  the  door  after  me  and  gave 
myself  up  to  painful  thoughts.  Never,  thought  I,  was 
a  man  in  a  more  unpleasant  position.  A  prisoner  at 
such  a  time! 

There  was  a  knock  upon  my  door  an  hour  later,  and 
Varian  entered,  cool,  polite,  and  smiling.  The  sight  of 
him  and  his  confidence  sent  the  blood  in  a  hot  torrent 
through  my  veins,  but  I  was  silent,  waiting  for  him 
to  speak  first. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  not  been  able 
to  come  to  see  you  sooner,  Mr.  Kingsford.  We  are 
enemies  since  you  chose  to  have  it  so,  but  I  see  no  rea- 
son why  hostility  should  produce  discourtesy." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  replied;  u  and  as  an  evidence  of  it 
I  ask  you  how  your  suit  is  progressing?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed.  I  speak  sincerely.  You  know 
that  the  marriage  of  Miss  Maynard  and  myself  is  to  oc- 
cur next  week.  Your  servant,  Mr.  Johnson,  was  at  Mrs. 
Maynard's  seeking  information,  and  as  I  saw  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  obtain  it  I  gave  orders  that  he  have 
facilities.  As  you  see,  I  am  thoroughly  informed,  Mr. 
Kingsford." 

"  There  is  one  question  that  I  would  like  to  ask 
you,"  I  said,  "  if  I  may  be  permitted." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Have  you  yet  obtained  the  consent  of  Miss  May- 
nard to  this  marriage  ?  " 

I  saw  a  faint  colour  come  into  his  face  for  the  first 
time,  but  in  a  moment  he  was  impassive  again. 

"  I  think  it  is  well  to  be  frank,"  he  replied,  "  and  I 
say  to  you  that  I  have  not;  yet  I  do  not  doubt  that 
I  shall.  I  warned  you  that  this  was  an  unequal  con- 
test, that  all  the  advantages  were  on  my  side.     I  do 


THE  TIME  TO  ACT  175 

not  know  of  any  pursuit  in  which  a  close  prisoner  can 
show  great  activity." 

"  I  expected  at  least  that  you  would  fight  openly/'  I 
replied. 

"  Have  I  not  done  so?  " 

"  Not  when  your  man  Palmore  attempted  to  assas- 
sinate me  before  the  battle  of  Shiloh." 

"Mr.  Kingsford,  I  have  wished  to  speak  to  you  of 
that,  but  I  waited  for  you  to  introduce  the  subject.  I 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair.  I  did  not  know  of  it 
until  long  since,  and  then  by  chance,  from  Blanchard. 
It  was  Blanchard's  fault,  perhaps.  The  man  is  rough 
in  his  ways,  but  he  is  attached  to  me.  I  was  of  some 
service  to  him  once  on  the  other  side,  and  perhaps  he 
has  been  indiscreet  in  his  zeal  to  repay  me.  He  met 
this  man,  learned  of  his  hostility  to  you,  and — well,  the 
two  misinterpreted  my  wishes.  Even  if  I  were  such  a 
wretch,  I  do  not  need  the  help  of  assassins  in  any  affairs 
of  mine." 

He  spoke  proudly,  and  drew  up  his  figure  as  if  he 
would  defy  criticism.  I  believed  that  he  was  speaking 
the  truth,  but  I  asked: 

"  Why  do  you  keep  Palmore  in  your  service,  and, 
above  all,  why  do  you  have  him  on  watch  at  my  door?  " 

He  hesitated  a  little  and  then  replied: 

"  You  still  wish  perfect  frankness  from  me,  and  I 
own  that  my  motives  are  a  little  mixed.  Perhaps  I  can 
put  it  this  way:  he  would  not  dare  to  murder  you  here, 
but  as  you  are  his  pet  enemy  he  is  a  most  excellent 
guard  over  you.  I  have  no  legal  right  to  interfere  with 
him  because  of  his  attempt  upon  your  life.  He  is  doing 
his  duty  at  present  as  a  soldier,  and  we  need  ask  no 
more.  I  tell  you  in  confidence  that  I  detest  him  as 
much  as  you  can.     Is  my  explanation  satisfactory?  " 

"  It  will  serve,"  I  replied.  "  But,  since  I  should  be 
equally  frank,  I  say  that  I  would  not  do  as  you  are 
doing." 


176  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  Put  it  down  to  the  difference  in  men,"  he  said, 

,  "  and  in  such  a  case  who  is  to  decide  which  is  right?     I 

am  sorry,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  that  we  are  forced 

to  be  rivals  and  enemies,  Mr.  Kingsford.     You  have 

qualities  that  are  to  be  admired." 

I  thanked  him,  and  he  added  that  the  rigours  of  my 
imprisonment  would  be  relaxed.  Moreover,  I  should 
be  treated  with  courtesy  by  all  his  men.  Just  before 
he  left  he  returned  to  the  subject  of  Elinor. 

"  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Kingsford,"  he  said,  "  that  Miss 
Maynard  will  be  my  wife  within  a  week,  and  she  shall 
be  a  happy  wife.  I  am  sorry,  I  repeat,  that  we  are 
rivals  in  this  particular,  but  it  is  a  commonplace  saying 
now  that  women  shall  ever  divide  men.  When  I  first 
saw  her  in  Washington  I  determined  that  she  should 
become  mine,  and  usually  I  have  my  way.  I  have 
known  many  women,  but  none  before  who  has  touched 
me  so  deeply,  perhaps  none  who  has  touched  me  at  all. 
Is  it  not  true  that  those  who  love  slowly  love  deepest?  " 

I  had  much  to  think  of  when  he  departed.  Again  I 
was  furious  at  my  fate  because  I  was  a  prisoner  when  I 
needed  most  to  be  free,  and  Varian,  with  his  smiling 
and  confident  manner,  appeared  the  most  formidable  of 
all  enemies.  In  truth,  Elinor  was  in  his  power,  and 
perhaps  she  would  not  long  regard  him  as  one  to  be 
feared.  His  confidence  in  himself  might  not  be  mis- 
placed, and  it  is  the  bold  who  win- the  hearts  of  women. 
Varian  certainly  had  an  abundant  share  of  boldness, 
and  one  who  would  oppose  him  must  bring  the  same 
qualities  into  use.  I  conceived  in  that  moment  a  dar- 
ing plan,  too  daring  it  appeared  after  a  little  reflection, 
but  I  believed  that  it  was  an  inspiration  and  I  clung 
to  it.  I  began  immediately  to  arrange  in  my  mind 
the  details.  Yet  I  was  forced  to  delay  action  owing  to 
the  lack  of  opportunities,  and  I  burned  with  angry  im- 
patience. 

Madam  Arlington  took  dinner  with  me  the  next  day, 


THE  TIME  TO  ACT  177 

much  pleased  with  Varian's  order  that  I  should  be 
treated  with  more  consideration.  I,  too,  felt  the  bene- 
fits of  this  relaxation,  as  I  could  now  go  about  the  house 
almost  as  I  pleased,  and  Palmore's  leering  face  was  not 
visible  so  often.  But  the  news  that  my  grandmother 
brought  me  was  far  from  cheering. 

"  The  marriage  of  Elinor  and  Varian  is  sure  to  occur 
next  week,"  she  said.  "  William  Penn  hears  that  Eli- 
nor is  yielding." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it!  I  do  not  believe  that  Elinor  is 
so  weak!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Henry,"  she  replied  calmly,  "  you  know  nothing 
at  all  about  women." 

Although  I  remained  silent  I  was  alarmed  to  the 
utmost,  and  I  grew  more  impatient  than  ever  to  attempt 
my  plan.  Yet  I  could  not  believe,  upon  reflection,  that 
Elinor  would  consent  to  this  marriage.  No  words  of 
love  had  passed  between  us,  but  she  had  ridden  once  in 
the  dark  to  save  my  life.  When  I  was  wounded  and 
delirious  she  had  been  the  tenderest  of  nurses  at  my 
bedside.  She  had  spoken  of  Varian  with  fear,  and  I 
did  not  believe  that  the  eyes  which  looked  with  such 
truth  into  mine  could  become  false.  Some  other 
woman  might  change,  but  not  the  Elinor  Maynard 
whom  I  knew. 

William  Penn  came  to  me  the  next  day. 

"  I  could  not  get  any  news  of  Miss  Elinor,"  he  said, 
in  great  grief,  "  except  that  she  is  still  locked  up  in  Mrs. 
Maynard's  house.  They  said  they  didn't  want  me  hang- 
ing about  there  any  more,  and  if  I  came  again  I'd  be 
arrested  and  sent  off  to  a  prison  in  the  South,  and  you 
know,  Henry,  there  is  no  better  Southern  man  than 
I  am." 

I  consoled  William  Penn  with  the  assurance  that 
they  would  not  seize  a  loyal  Southerner  like  himself, 
and  then  I  confided  to  him  my  plan,  which  depended 
in  great  part  upon  his  assistance. 


178  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"I  would  not  dare,  Henry!"  he  cried.  "You 
know  I'm  not  a  fighting  man,  and  I  think  your  scheme 
is  wild.     It's  bound  to  fail,  anyhow." 

"  It  will  succeed  if  you  stand  by  me,  William  Penn, 
and  I  shall  rely  upon  you,"  I  replied  with  confidence. 

He  protested  no  more  and  left  much  dejected.  As 
I  looked  through  my  window  presently  I  saw  him  riding 
away  and  I  knew  that  I  did  not  trust  him  in  vain.  Yet 
I  became  nervous  and  excited.  Everything  depended 
upon  so  many  happy  chances  that  I  was  afraid  of  a  weak 
link  in  the  chain.  The  minutes  doubled  and  tripled  in 
length.  Noon  was  long  in  coming  and  I  had  no 
appetite  for  dinner;  but  I  forced  myself  to  eat,  know- 
ing that  I  would  need  all  my  strength.  The  afternoon 
dragged  even  more  heavily.  I  looked  through  the 
window  and  saw  only  sunshine  and  peafte.  Two  of  the 
soldiers  were  on  the  front  lawn  lounging  in  the  shade 
of  the  beech  trees.  The  sun  grew  warmer.  It  was  one 
of  those  long,  hot  summer  afternoons  in  the  South. 
The  flies  droned  against  the  window  panes,  and  one 
of  the  soldiers  under  the  beech  trees  fell  asleep.  It 
was  a  day  that  invited  rest,  and  I  was  glad.  Few  could 
be  suspicious  and  alert  under  such  an  ardent  sun  and 
in  such  a  peaceful  world.  My  grandmother  walked 
presently  across  the  lawn,  a  straight,  reliant  figure. 
The  forest  formed  a  black  line  at  the  edge  of  the  hori- 
zon, and  a  dim  haze  of  heat  hung  between. 

I  began  to  feel  some  of  the  languor  of  the  day  de- 
spite my  nervous  excitement,  but  I  did  not  leave  the 
window,  and  an  hour  before  sunset  William  Penn  ap- 
peared, riding  clown  the  road  that  led  to  the  village. 
He  raised  his  hand  twice,  thus  making  the  signal  agreed 
between  us,  and  I  knew  that  he  had  been  successful.  It 
was  a  good  beginning,  and  my  heart  leaped  up  with  en- 
couragement. I  walked  to  the  door  of  my  room,  and  I 
did  not  know  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  when  I  found 
that  the  man  on  guard  was  Palmore. 


THE  TIME  TO  ACT  179 

"  So  you  are  to  watch  over  me  this  evening?  "  I 
said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  with  some  return  of  his  old  in- 
solent manner.  "  I  am  to  see  that  the  bird  keeps  in  its 
cage." 

"  Mr.  Palmore,"  I  said,  "I  am  not  able  to  understand 
the  importance  which  seems  to  be  assigned  to  me.  Why 
should  such  a  guard  be  kept  over  an  ordinary  pris- 
oner? " 

"  You  will  have  to  talk  to  Colonel  Varian  about 
that,"  he  replied. 

I  returned  to  my  window  and  watched  with  infinite 
gladness  the  coming  of  the  night.  I  looked  toward  the 
west,  and  just  as  the  sun  was  about  to  sink  behind  a  hill 
William  Penn  appeared,  his  figure  showing  black  and 
sharp  against  its  crimson  glow.  He  again  raised  his 
hand  twice,  giving  the  signal  once  more,  and  I  knew 
that  the  second  step  in  our  plan  had  been  taken. 

My  grandmother  brought  me  my  supper  with  her 
own  hands.  I  was  glad  of  it,  because  I  meditated  a  long 
journey,  and  if  I  took  it  I  was  not  likely  to  see  her  again 
for  many  days.  She  was  strangely  silent,  and  seemed 
to  be  more  depressed  than  usual,  she,  as  I  have  said, 
being  a  woman  of  such  vigorous  temperament  that  sad- 
ness could  not  endure  long  in  her  mind.  I  would  have 
told  her  of  my  intentions,  but  when  she  had  been  pres- 
ent only  a  few  minutes  Blanchard  himself  came  in  and 
began  to  talk  to  me.  Thereupon  Madam  Arlington, 
who  disliked  him  extremely,  walked  out  without  a  word. 

"  I  don't  think  that  we  shall  keep  you  here  much 
longer,  Mr.  Kingsford,"  said  Blanchard,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  joviality.  "We'll  send  you  South  to  join  the 
other  Yankee  prisoners  as  soon  as  we  get  a  chance. 
Colonel  Varian  would  attend  to  it  himself,  but  he's  so 
busy  getting  ready  for  his  marriage — and  isn't  she 
handsome  too ! — that  he'll  have  more  agreeable  duties  to 
attend  to,  and  I'm  afraid  I  must  take  you  myself." 


180  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

I  was  tempted  to  deliver  a  blow  with  all  my  might 
in  the  centre  of  his  smirking  face,  but  I  refrained  and 
instead  drank  the  last  of  my  coffee. 

"  Let  Colonel  Varian  attend  to  his  affairs  as  he 
thinks  best/'  I  replied,  with  an  assumption  of  indif- 
ference. 

"Oh,  he  will!     Don't  you  fear!  " 

He  saw  that  he  could  not  provoke  me  into  any  pas- 
sionate outburst,  and  presently  left  me  alone  in  the 
room.  I  went  anew  to  the  window  which  had  served 
me  so  well  and  saw  to  my  great  delight  that  the  night 
would  be  dark.  Two  sentinels  paced  back  and  forth 
on  the  lawn,  and  I  knew  that  a  third,  Palmore,  was  in 
the  hall  at  my  door.  Varian,  certainly,  was  taking 
good  care  of  his  prisoner,  and  I  wondered  what  his  su- 
periors would  say  when  they  learned  that  he  was  using 
the  soldiers  of  the  Confederacy  in  his  personal  cause. 

I  waited  an  hour  longer,  and  again  I  noticed  with 
pleasure  the  increasing  darkness.  Then  I  hurriedly 
took  a  sheet  from  my  bed,  twisted  it  into  a  rope,  and 
softly  opened  the  window.  Neither  of  the  sentinels  on 
the  lawn  turned  to  see,  and  I  was  thankful  now  that  I 
had  seemed  listless  in  my  prison,  making  no  effort  to 
escape,  and,  so  far  as  my  immediate  guards  could  note, 
willing  to  remain  a  prisoner  there  in  my  own  home, 
where  I  could  find  the  comforts  of  life.  Then  I  pressed 
hard  upon  the  leg  which  had  been  broken.  It  gave 
back  no  twinge,  and  I  knew  that  it  was  as  strong  as 
ever. 

The  two  sentinels  met  on  their  beats  and  exchanged 
gossip.  Then  they  went  on,  one  lighting  a  pipe  and 
smoking  contentedly  as  he  walked.  I  pulled  the  bed 
across  the  floor  to  the  window,  and  then  paused  in  fear 
lest  the  soft  sliding  noise  should  draw  the  attention  of 
Palmore.  But  he  'had  not  noticed,  and  tying  my 
clumsy  rope  to  the  leg  of  the  bed  I  swung  myself  out 
of  the  window,  taking  all  the  chances  of  a  shot  from 


THE  TIME  TO  ACT  181 

either  or  both  of  the  sentinels,  should  they  see  me. 
Never  before  did  I  feel  such  gratitude  for  a  dark  night. 
My  room  was  on  the  second  floor,  and  when  I  slid  down 
to  the  end  of  the  sheet  I  was  within  three  or  four  feet 
of  the  ground.  I  hung  there  for  a  few  moments,  a 
black  figure  against  the  black  wall;  but  I  knew  that  the 
sheet  showed  in  a  strip  of  white  above  my  head.  I  saw 
the  two  sentinels  dimly  as  they  walked  to  and  fro,  one 
of  them  smoking.  A  spark  in  his  pipe  blazed  up  and 
went  out.  He  stumbled  on  a  root,  uttered  a  curse,  and 
went  on.  I  thought  what  a  splendid  target  I  would 
make  if  they  saw  me  there  against  the  wall;  but  they 
did  not  see  me  and  I  dropped  to  the  ground.  The  soft 
turf  felt  pleasant  under  my  feet,  and  the  air  of  free- 
dom was  like  the  breath  of  hope.  It  filled  me  with 
courage. 

The  house  cast  a  protecting  shadow  which  increased 
the  darkness,  and  I  lingered  there  a  little  as  I  selected 
my  line  of  escape.  The  eyes  of  the  soldiers  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  night  and  I  knew  that  my  risk  was 
great.  I  crept  in  the  shadow  of  the  house  to  the  corner, 
and  there  I  paused  when  I  heard  the  sentinel  who  was 
smoking  swear  again.  His  pipe  had  gone  out  and  he 
stopped  to  relight  it.  The  other  man  joined  him  and 
they  talked  for  a  few  moments.  I  waited,  expecting 
them  to  go  on,  when  I  would  continue  my  flight.  The 
fence  of  the  garden  was  only  about  fifteen  feet  away.  I 
would  make  a  silent  dash  for  it,  and  then  escape  under 
its  protection. 

The  two  sentinels  lingered,  and  presently  one  of 
them  looked  up  at  my  window.  He  beheld  the  white 
sheet  hanging  down  and  knew  instantly  that  his  pris- 
oner was  escaping.  He  uttered  a  shout  and  ran  toward 
the  house.  Had  I  retained  complete  presence  of  mind 
I  would  have  remained  where  I  was,  my  figure  blotted 
out  against  the  blackness  of  the  wall,  but,  obeying  the 
first  impulse,  I  dashed  across  the  lawn  and  sprang  over 


182  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  garden  fence,  fleeing  for  my  life  for  the  second  time 
from  the  home  of  my  childhood.  The  other  sentinel 
saw  me  first  and  fired  at  me  with  his  rifle.  The  bullet 
whizzed  over  my  shoulder,  and  as  my  feet  touched  the 
ground  on  the  far  side  of  the  fence  a  second  came  from 
a  different  direction.  My  flight  had  brought  me  within 
sight  of  the  sentinels  on  the  far  side  of  the  house, 
and  they,  too,  opened  fire. 

My  grandmother's  extreme  fondness  for  pease  had 
always  been  a  joke  with  me,  but  now  I  thanked  God  for 
it.  More  than  a  dozen  rows  of  pea  vines,  trained  on 
sticks  almost  to  the  height  of  a  man's  head,  ran  the  full 
length  of  the  garden,  and  I  dashed  down  one  of  the 
aisles,  completely  hidden  for  the  time  from  my  pursuers 
and  those  disturbing  rifle  shots.  It  is  dangerous  enough 
to  be  under  fire  in  battle,  but  to  be  the  sole  target  of  a 
half  dozen  men,  good  marksmen  too,  seeking  your  life, 
and  hunting  you  as  they  would  a  fox,  is  far  more  trying. 

I  dropped  down  momentarily  between  the  pea  rows, 
hoping  to  profit  by  the  confusion  that  my  disappearance 
would  cause  among  my  enemies,  and  as  I  stooped  there 
I  saw  lights  appearing  in  the  house  and  heard  much 
shouting.  But  the  voices  were  those  of  the  soldiers 
only.  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  of  my  grand- 
mother, and  I  was  much  surprised,  knowing  how  vig- 
orous she  would  be  on  such  an  occasion. 

There  was  a  sound  of  tremendous  swearing,  and  both 
Blanchard  and  Palmore  dashed  from  the  house.  I 
peeped  through  the  pea  vines  and  saw  the  soldiers  who 
had  fired  the  last  shots  running  about  like  hounds  that 
had  lost  the  scent,  mystified  by  my  sudden  disappear- 
ance. I  ran,  still  stooping  between  the  rows,  until  I 
reached  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  and  then  paused 
again.  Before  me  was  another  open  space  about  twenty 
feet  across,  beyond  that  a  fence  again,  and  the  forest 
about  a  hundred  yards  farther. 

"  Which  way  did  he  go?  "  I  heard  Blanchard  shout. 


THE  TIME  TO  ACT  183 

"  Into  the  garden  and  then  we  lost  sight  of  him," 
a  sentinel  replied. 

"  He's'  among  these  pea  vines! "  cried  Blan chard. 
"  Now,  Palmore,  is  your  chance !  " 

I  knew  the  sinister  meaning  of  his  hint,  and  Pal- 
more  comprehended  it  too,  as  he  sprang  over  the  fence 
the  next  instant,  and  then  crashed  among  the  vines.  I 
was  wholly  unarmed,  and  he  douhtless  knew  it  or  he 
would  not  have  come  so  fast.  I  saw  him,  pistol  in  hand, 
rushing  down  between  the  rows,  and  I  ran  for  the  fence. 
I  crossed  the  brief  open  space  before  I  was  seen,  but  as 
I  put  my  hand  upon  the  fence  and  cleared  it  at  one 
leap  three  or  four  bullets  whistled  around  me.  Then  I 
ran  for  my  life  toward  the  woods.  Halfway  across  I 
glanced  back  and  saw  that  Palmore  was  resting  his 
pistol  upon  the  fence  and  drawing  a  dead  aim  upon  me. 
It  was  an  easy  shot  for  a  Kentuckian,  but  even  as  I 
looked  a  rifle  was  fired  from  the  wood,  a  sudden  look  of 
vague  wonder  appeared  on  Palmore's  face,  and  he  sank 
without  a  cry  to  the  ground. 

I  paused  no  longer,  but  with  a  heart  full  of  thank- 
fulness ran  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE    PEIZE    OF   DAEING 

"  Did  I  kill  him?  0  Henry,  did  I  kill  him?  "  cried 
William  Penn,  as  he  met  me  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods. 
"  And  to  think  that  a  timid  man,  such  as  I  am,  a  man 
opposed  to  all  violence,  should  shoot  a  fellow-creature! 
Shall  I  ever  get  forgiveness?" 

"  Was  it  a  crime,  William  Penn,  to  save  my  life  from 
that  scoundrel  ? "  I  asked,  as  we  ran  deeper  into  the 
forest.  I  saw  that  he  was  trembling  violently,  but 
he  still  held  the  smoking  rifle,  and  certainly  there 
had  been  no  trembling  of  his  hand  when  he  pulled  its 
trigger. 

I  had  little  fear  now.  It  requires  almost  super- 
human skill  to  follow  fugitives  on  a  dark  night  through 
a  deep  forest,  and  William  Penn's  rifle'  shot  was  likely  to 
make  our  enemies  fear  that  they  would  run  into  an  am- 
bush. My  surmise  was  right,  as  in  five  minutes  all 
noise  of  pursuit  died,  and  slackening  our  pace  we 
walked  side  by  side  among  the  trees. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  William  Penn?"  I 
asked. 

"  By  never  getting  me  into  such  another  scrape,"  he 
replied. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  said,  "  if  I  call  upon  you  to 
risk  your  life  for  me  again  you  know  that  you  will  do 
it.     If  there  were  more  cowards  like  you  it  would  be  a 
braver  world." 
184 


THE  PRIZE  OF  DARING  185 

He  muttered  something  about  the  reckless  heart  and 
tongue  of  youth,  and  a  wish  not  to  have  my  grand- 
mother's feelings  hurt.  Then  he  relapsed  into  silence, 
and  we  walked  lightly  through  the  wood  until  we  came 
to  the  glade  in  which  the  horses  were  hitched. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said. 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  some  brush,  drawing  forth 
a  pair  of  fine  pistols  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  am- 
munition. 

"  Take  them,  Henry,"  he  said,  "  you  will  need  them, 
and  at  the  same  time  you  will  rid  me  of  them.  Why 
were  such  dreadful  things  ever  made  ?  " 

"  William  Penn,"  I  exclaimed  with  warmth,  "  did 
ever  a  man  have  a  friend  like  you?  " 

"  I'm  certain  I  never  did,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  faint 
humorous  inflection.  "  My  friends  get  me  into  trouble, 
never  out  of  it." 

"  I  shall  repay  you  some  day,"  I  said. 

But  I  knew  that  he  did  not  want  repayment. 

I  was  exultant  over  my  escape,  and  since  it  had 
turned  out  happily  I  was  not  sorry  now  that  they  had 
seen  me.  The  greater  the  confusion  among  my  enemies 
the  better  it  was  for  my  plans.    . 

"  What  time  do  you  think  it  is,  William  Penn?  " 

"  About  ten  o'clock." 

"  Then  wait  for  me  here;  I  shall  return  by  two  in 
the  morning." 

He  looked  at  the  dark  and  silent  woods  and  shivered. 

"  Do  I  have  to  stay  alone?  "  he  asked. 

I  laughed,  and  left  him.  I  stopped  in  the  shadow  of 
a  great  tree  before  I  had  gone  far,  and  looked  back.  He 
was  sitting  on  a  stump,  reloading  his  rifle. 

My  joy  increased  as  I  walked  briskly  through  the 
forest.  Success  was  the  finest  of  comrades,  and  I  was 
free  again;  free,  too,  to  attempt  whatever  I  wished. 
"  Surely,"  I  thought,  "  the  good  fortune  which  has  at- 
tended me  so  far  can  not  fail!  " 


186  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Less  than  an  hour  brought  me  within  sight  of  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Maynard,  standing,  like  my  grandmoth- 
er's, not  far  from  the  forest.  Now  my  heart  began  to 
beat  with  a  heightened  emotion.  I  thought  of  Elinor 
persecuted  and  imprisoned,  and  the  knowledge  that  I 
was  about  to  risk  my  life  to  reach  her  sent  the  blood 
leaping  through  my  veins.  I  never  doubted  that  she 
loved  me.  She  would  not  have  saved  my  life,  she  would 
not  have  come  to  me  when  wounded,  she  would  not  now 
suffer  oppression  for  my  sake,  if  she  did  not  care  more 
for  me  than  for  any  other  man. 

Two  windows  of  the  Maynard  house  were  lighted. 
One  of  the  lights  marked  Mrs.  Maynard's  room,  and  the 
other  came  from  a  chamber  that  had  been  set  apart  for 
guests  in  the  old  days.  I  was  sure  that  Varian  was 
there,  rejoicing  in  his  imagined  security  and  triumph. 
.  I  felt  anger  and  then  a  fierce  exultation,  for  I  believed 
that  he  would  yet  be  defeated. 

Elinor's  room  was  at  the  northeast  corner  of  the 
building,  and  all  that  quarter  was  dark,  but  I  did  not 
wish  it  to  be  otherwise.  I  crept  to  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
and  then  followed  a  fence  until  I  was  within  thirty 
yards  of  the  house,  when  I  stopped  and  looked  for  the 
sentinel,  whom  I  knew  Varian  would  not  neglect  to  post. 
I  saw  him  presently  walking  in  front  of  the  house,  and, 
though  I  watched  ten  minutes,  I  saw  no  other.  No  hos- 
tile troops  were  within  fifty  miles,  and  a  single  sentinel 
was  enough  for  even  a  prudent  commander. 

The  man  turned  presently  and  walked  toward  the 
far  end  of  the  lawn,  and  then,  stepping  lightly,  I  ran  to 
the  house.  When  he  came  back  I  was  standing  behind 
a  pillar  of  the  piazza.  Our  Southern  homes  are  always 
built  with  piazzas  or  porches,  in  which  we  sit  in  the 
warm  weather,  and  now  I  was  finding  Mrs.  Maynard's 
most  convenient.  I  was  thankful,  too,  that  I  knew  this 
house  so  well.  I  waited  there  until  the  man  turned 
and  went  back  again  on  his  beat,  and  then,  standing 


THE  PRIZE  OP  DARING  187 

upon  the  banisters,  I  seized  the  low  edge  of  the  piazza 
roof  and  drew  myself  up. 

This  roof  was  almost  flat,  and  the  windows  of  the 
second  floor  opened  upon  it.  Burglars  were  unknown 
with  us,  and  I  smiled  to  myself  to  think  that  I  was  the 
first  who  had  ever  come  to  the  Maynard  house.  The 
lighted  window  of  the  guest  chamber  was  at  one  end  of 
the  porch  and  my  destination  at  the  other;  but,  drawn 
by  curiosity,  I  turned  aside  for  a  moment  to  the  window 
in  which  the  light  shone.  I  knelt  on  the  roof,  and 
looked  into  the  room. 

Varian,  in  full  military  dress,  was  sitting  at  a  table, 
writing.  He  raised  his  head  presently,  and  I  dropped 
mine  below  the  edge  of  the  window,  but  he  was  not 
looking  in  my  direction,  and  again  I  watched  him. 
Whatever  he  wrote,  it  was  pleasing  to  him,  because  he 
smiled,  and  when  he  smiled  he  looked  like  a  man  whom 
one  would  wish  to  have  as  his  friend.  I  wondered  anew 
at  his  character,  and  I  wondered,  too,  if  I  misjudged 
him. 

The  sentinel  on  the  lawn  coughed,  and  I  pressed  my- 
self close  to  the  wall,  but  he  was  too  far  away  to  see  me, 
and  for  the  greater  part  of  his  beat  I  was  completely 
hidden  by  the  projections  of  the  house.  I  had  little 
fear  of  him,  especially  as  he  seemed  to  be  far  from  alert. 
Moreover,  I  did  not  believe  that  Blanchard  would  hurry 
to  the  Maynard  home  with  the  alarm  of  my  escape. 
He  would  at  least  make  the  pretence  of  a  search  for  me 
before  facing  the  wrath  of  his  master. 

Varian  resumed  his  writing,  bending  his  head  over 
the  paper  again,  and,  leaving  him,  I  passed  along  the 
roof  to  the  other  end,  stopping  before  the  window  that  I 
knew  was  Elinor's.  I  did  not  forget  then  to  be  thank- 
ful once  more  for  our  Southern  style  of  building  houses. 

I  paused  here,  and  realized  for  the  first  time  the  full 
gravity  of  my  attempt.  More  depended  upon  her  now 
than  upon  me,  and  would  she  be  willing  to  go  with  me? 
13 


188  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

But,  having  come  so  far,  it  would  be  foolish  to  turn 
back.  I  tapped  upon  the  window  shutter  three  times 
quickly,  and  then,  after  a  pause,  a  fourth  time.  When 
we  played  together  as  boy  and  girl  we  used  to  have  sig- 
nals for  calling  each  other  after  the  fashion  of  children, 
and  this  was  one.  I  waited,  and  I  thought  I  heard  a 
movement  within  the  room,  but  it  was  followed  by  sev- 
eral minutes  of  silence,  and  I  grew  anxious.  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  sentinel,  and  he  appeared  to  be  unsus- 
picious. His  eyes  were  not  turned  once  in  my  direc- 
tion. I  feared  the  vigilance  of  Varian  more  than  that 
of  any  other,  but  the  bar  of  light  from  his  window  still 
fell  upon  the  piazza  roof. 

I  repeated  the  signal,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
slight  noise  as  of  some  one  moving  was  resumed  in  the 
room.  The  sash  was  raised,  and  the  voice  of  Elinor, 
trembling,  but  nevertheless  brave  and  confident,  whis- 
pered between  the  slats  of  the  shutter: 

"  Is  it  you,  Henry?  " 

I  did  not  know  until  then,  until  I  heard  the  joyful 
tone  of  her  voice  welcoming  me,  how  much  I  loved  her. 
I  felt,  even  in  that  moment  of  danger,  a  deep  glow  of 
happiness. 

"  Yes,  Elinor,"  I  said;  "  I  have  come  for  you." 

"  I  believed  that  you  would,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
been  sitting  here  every  night  waiting  for  you." 

She  opened  the  shutter  softly,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  she  had  become  a  woman  I  kissed  her.  I  put  my 
arms  around  her,  and  she  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  I- 
felt  then  that  I  was  strong  enough  to  protect  her  against 
all  men. 

"  I  have  come  for  you,"  I  repeated. 

"  To  go  where?  " 

"  I  do  not  know;  but  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Then  T  do  not  care  where  we  go." 

I  kissed  her  again,  and  warm  lips  returned  the 
kiss. 


THE  PRIZE  OP  DARING  189 

"  We  must  go  now,"  I  said. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  replied. 

I  lifted  her  through  the  window.  Then  she  stood 
upon  the  roof  of  the  piazza.  Her  face  was  pale,  but 
her  eyes  glowed  with  resolute  fire  as  she  stood  beside 
me,  slender  and  straight.  She  saw  the  beam  of  light  on 
the  far  end  of  the  piazza  roof. 

"  It  comes  from  the  room  of  Variant"  I  said.  "  He 
is  writing  there." 

"  They  could  never  have  forced  me  to  marry  him," 
she  said. 

"  I  know  they  could  not,"  I  replied  with  confidence. 

The  sentinel,  turning  on  his  beat,  walked  back  and 
came  into  view. 

"  Lean  against  the  wall,  sweetheart,  until  he  passes," 
I  said. 

She  pressed  herself  against  the  wall,  but  my  arm  was 
still  around  her  waist.  I  could  feel  her  trembling,  and 
we  waited  there  in  the  darkness  until  the  sentinel 
went  by. 

"Neither  of  us  should  ever  forget  to  be  thankful 
that  this  night  is  dark,"  I  whispered. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  leaned  trustfully  against 
me. 

Then,  holding  her  hand  and  steadying  her,  I  led 
her  to  the  edge  of  the  piazza  roof. 

"  Sit  there  a  moment,"  I  said,  and  I  dropped  lightly 
to  the  ground.  Then  I  looked  up  at  her,  and  she  looked 
down  at  me. 

"  Come!  It  is  the  last  step,"  I  said,  holding  out  my 
arms. 

"  Then  should  I  not  hesitate  before  taking  it?  "  she 
asked,  a  faint  smile  flickering  over  her  face. 

"  Are  you  afraid?  "  I  asked. 

"  Do  you  promise  to  love  and  protect  me  all  your 
life?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart  and  strength." 


190  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  Then  stand  fast;  I  am  coming." 

She  sprang  down,  and  I  caught  her  in  my  arms. 

"  Ah,  you  robber!  "  she  cried.  I  had  taken  toll  be- 
fore I  put  her  on  the  ground. 

"  You  are  to  be  my  wife  in  an  hour,"  I  replied,  and 
I  kissed  her  again. 

Thus  I  stole  my  sweetheart  from  the  house  of  her 
persecutors,  and  thus  she  left  all  the  world  to  follow  me. 
So,  too,  did  I  forget  the  great  war  and  all  else,  to  take 
her  with  me.     It  was  love. 

The  sentinel  was  about  to  pass  again,  and  I  drew  her 
behind  the  pillar  of  the  piazza.  The  night  was  so  still 
that  we  heard  the  soft  crush  of  the  man's  footsteps  on 
the  turf. 

"  Are  you  afraid?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  am  with  you,"  she  replied. 

The  sentinel  passed  again,  unsuspicious  as  ever,  and, 
two  bent  figures,  we  stole  across  the  lawn  and  behind 
the  fence,  and  then  into  the  depths  of  the  forest.  I 
looked  back  only  once  as  we  ran,  and  I  saw  the  light 
still  shining  from  Varian's  window. 

"  I  have  beaten  you  with  all  your  power  and  all  your 
smooth  intrigues,"  I  said  exultingly,  but  not  aloud. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE   WIND   AMONG   THE    TEEES 

We  stopped  a  moment  or  two  in  the  forest  that  Eli- 
nor might  rest. 

"  My  poor  aunt!  "  she  said. 

"  She  will  forgive  us  in  time." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  she  looked  at  me,  her  face 
pale  and  lovely,  and  then  it  was  suffused  with  a  blush 
as  she  said: 

"  Which  way  do  we  go  now,  Henry?  Remember 
that  I  follow  you." 

"  You  do  not  follow;  you  go  with  me,"  I  said.  "  A 
good  friend  of  us  both  is  waiting  near,  and  it  is  well  for 
us  to  hasten." 

Then  I  told  her  of  the  alarm  at  my  escape,  and  the 
shots  that  had  been  fired  at  me. 

"  0  Henry!  they  might  have  killed  you!  "  she  said, 
and  I  felt  her  hands  upon  my  arm.  Then  I  was  not 
sorry  that  they  had  fired  upon  me. 

It  took  us  nearly  two  hours  to  walk  through  the 
forest  to  the  glade  where  William  Penn  was  waiting 
with  the  horses,  and  it  is  not  a  time  that  I  can  ever  for- 
get. I  had  triumphed  over  all  dangers  and  obstacles, 
and  the  woman  I  loved  and  whom  I  had  so  nearly  lost, 
walked  beside  me,  her  warm  young  hand  in  mine.  The 
night  was  dark,  but  the  forest  was  not  lonely  and  we 
were  not  afraid. 

"  What  is  that?  "    she  asked. 

191 


192  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

We  stopped,  and  she  stood  a  little  closer  to  me. 

"  It  is  only  the  hooting  of  an  owl/' 

"And  that?" 

"  The  whirring  wings  of  a  bird  flying  over  our 
heads." 

We  walked  on,  and  again  she  stopped. 

"  It  is  only  the  rising  wind  among  the  leaves,"  I 
said. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  while  you  are  with  me,"  she  re- 
peated. 

The  night  grew  darker  as  we  advanced.  We  kept 
to  the  thickest  of  the  forest,  and  looking  up  I  saw  that 
the  light  of  the  moon  was  fading,  obscured  by  drifting 
clouds. 

"  You  told  me  that  some  one  was  waiting  for  us?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied;  "  it  is  William  Penn,  that  most 
faithful  of  souls." 

I  had  said  that  we  ought  to  hasten,  and  she  had 
agreed  with  me,  but  we  did  not  go  so  fast.  The  night 
was  dark  and  the  way  rough,  and  Elinor  needed  help 
and  protection. 

"  A  gully!  "  I  said.  "  Beware,  or  you  will  stumble 
into  it,"  and  my  arm  went  around  her  to  hold  her  back. 

"  Be  careful,"  I  continued  a  minute  later,  "  or  you 
will  be  torn  on  those  bushes,"  and  I  drew  her  nearer  to 
me  that  she  might  escape  the  danger. 

"  Do  you  think  that  they  will  follow  us,  Henry?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  they  will  try  to  do  so  when  they  dis- 
cover that  you  are  missing,"  I  replied. 

She  shivered,  and  I  said,  "  Fear  not,  sweetheart,  I 
would  die  for  you." 

"What  noise  is  that?"  she  exclaimed,  "is  it  not 
Varian  and  his  men  pursuing  us?  " 

"  Listen,  and  keep  close  to  me,"  I  said,  and  with 
my  arm  yet  around  her  waist  I  drew  her  into  the 
darkest  shadows. 


THE  WIND  AMONG   THE  TREES  193 

"  If  it  is  they,  we  will  stand  here  while  they  pass,"  I 
said. 

But  I  knew  from  the  first  that  it  was  only  the  wind 
among  the  trees. 

"  It  was  nothing,  or  rather  fancy  tricking  us,"  I  said 
presently.     "  I  think  that  now  we  can  go  on  again." 

We  walked  ten  minutes  in  silence.  Her  hand  trem- 
bled now  and  then  in  mine,  but  her  face,  though  pale, 
expressed  dauntless  courage.  I  could  see  that  it  was  so, 
with  eyes  grown  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and  then 
— her  face  was  not  far  away. 

A  tremor  shook  her  hand,  and  she  stopped.  "  Do 
you  not  hear  a  noise,  Henry?  "  she  asked.  "  Perhaps 
it  is  they." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  it,"  I  said,  bending  my  head  that  I 
might  listen  better,  "  and  we  will  stop  a  little  while  lest 
we  walk  into  their  arms." 

"  Traitor,  you  are  trying  to  forestall  them." 

"  But  listen,  Elinor,  the  noise  is  continued  and 
steady." 

"  As  of  armed  men  searching  everywhere." 

"  It  may  be  armed  men  searching  the  whole  forest." 

"  0  Henry,  I  am  afraid!  " 

"  Let  me  support  you." 

We  listened  a  few  minutes,  and  then  I  said  in  a 
tone  of  great  relief: 

"  It  is  only  the  little  waterfall.  You  remember 
where  the  brook  runs  over  the  rocks." 

"  Of  course;  now  I  know  that  sound  could  be  made 
only  by  the  steady  rush  of  water." 

But  I  had  known  it  from  the  first. 

We  reached  the  brook  and  paused  a  moment  on 
its  brink.  It  flowed  in  a  baby  torrent,  a  sheet  of 
silver  over  the  pebbles,  a  riotous  little  stream,  as  happy 
in  its  solitude  as  we;  three  feet  wide,  six  inches  deep, 
and  as  confident  as  Niagara. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  get  wet  if  I  cross!  "  said  Elinor. 


194  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  You  need  run  no  such  risk/'  I  replied,  and  lifting 
her  in  my  arms  I  carried  her  over  the  stream.  I  had  no 
regret  save  that  it  was  not  wider. 

"  Who  asked  you  to  do  that?  "  said  Elinor. 

"  I  did  not  need  to  be  asked." 

"  You  take  advantage  of  every  chance." 

"  If  I  had  not  I  would  not  have  won  you." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  we  continued  our  journey. 

"Isn't  William  Penn  near  now?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"  I  hope  not." 

"  Why?  " 

"  Because,  if  he  were,  the  pleasantest  journey  that  I 
have  ever  undertaken  would  be  too  near  its  end." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  we  were  to  be  married 
then?" 

"  So  we  are,  but  ought  I  not  to  have  a  little  time 
for  courtship?     You  know  it  has  been  too  short." 

She  was  silent  again,  and  we  walked  slowly  on  in  the 
darkness.  The  clouds  increased,  and  I  found  it  neces- 
sary to  help  Elinor  more.  But  we  were  approaching  the 
glade  in  which  William  Penn  waited  with  the  horses. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  he  will  be  there?  "  she  asked. 

"  As  sure  as  I  am  that  we  shall  arrive." 

We  beheld  in  another  five  minutes  the  rift  in  the 
trees  that  marked  the  glade. 

"  Yonder  is  the  place,"  I  said  with  a  sigh. 

We  saw,  as  we  approached,  William  Penn  sitting  on 
the  stump  and  holding  the  three  horses  by  the  bridles, 
which  he  had  gathered  in  one  hand,  while  the  rifle  was 
clasped  in  the  other.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  when  he 
heard  our  approaching  footsteps,  and  the  rifle  flew  to 
his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  only  we,  William  Penn,"  I  said;  "  you  need 
not  fire." 

"  And  who  are  '  we  '?  "  he  demanded  in  a  loud  and 
threatening  voice. 


THE  WIND  AMONG  THE  TREES  195 

"Behold  us! "  I  said,  as  we  stepped  into  the  faint 
moonlight  of  the  little  glade. 

"  I  thought  you  would  never  come"  he  grumbled, 
letting  the  stock  of  his  rifle  fall  to  the  ground;  but  he 
added,  with  an  amazing  touch  of  gallantry  for  him, 
"  Miss  Elinor,  we  need  no  moonlight  since  you  have 
come." 

"  What  a  compliment,  William  Penn!  "  she  said; 
"  and  I  wish  you  to  know  how  much  I  appreciate  it." 

But  I  felt  that  we  should  linger  no  longer,  and, 
mounting  the  horses,  we  rode  with  speed  to  the  village. 
I  had  triumphed  in  the  great  object,  but  I  knew  that 
Varian  would  pursue  us  unrelentingly.  If  drawn  else- 
where by  military  duties,  he  could  detach  Blanchard 
and  a  band  of  his  personal  followers  and  send  them  after 
us.  I  appreciated  the  dangers  that  yet  lay  before  us, 
but  I  believed  that  we  could  triumph  over  them  all  as 
we  had  triumphed  over  those  past. 

Elinor  became  silent  and  shy.  She  even  rode  nearer 
to  William  Penn  than  to  me,  and  the  old  man  yearned 
over  her  like  a  father. 

"  How  good  of  you,  William  Penn,"  she  said,  after  a 
while,  "  to  help  us  so  much,  and  at  such  great  risks!  " 

"  The  young  are  always  foolish,"  said  William  Penn; 
"  but  we  old  people  love  them,  and  work  for  them  any- 
how. Perhaps  it's  because  they  are  such  blind  duck- 
lings that  we  feel  sorry  for  them." 

Then  he  turned  in  his  saddle  and  shook  his  fist 
at  me. 

"  You  scamp,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  nearly  dead  with 
fright  for  the  last  twenty  hours.  I'm  a  man  of  peace, 
and  if  ever  I  lift  a  hand  again  to  help  anybody  while 
this  war  is  going  on  may  I  be  condemned  for  all  eter- 
nity as  a  fool!  " 

But  we  rode  steadily  on,  we  three,  and  William  Penn 
was  not  the  least  bold  amona;  us. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

"  WHITHEK   THOU    GOEST,    I   WILL   GO  " 

The  village  of  Silver  Bow  is  three  miles  from  my 
grandmother's  house,  and  four  miles  from  Mrs.  May- 
nard's,  the  three  forming  a  triangle.  A  majority  of  its 
small  number  of  inhabitants  were  zealous  supporters  of 
secession  and  the  Southern  cause,  but  at  the  same  time 
they  were  the  friends  of  my  grandmother  and  myself, 
and  I  had  little  fear  that  any  of  them  would  detain  us. 
So,  when  we  saw  the  houses,  long  after  midnight,  it  was 
with  no  feeling  of  apprehension. 

"  They  are  waiting  yonder,"  said  William  Penn, 
pointing  to  the  single  building  in  which  a  light  shone. 

"  That  is  where  we  are  to  be  married,"  I  said  to  Eli- 
nor, "  and  in  a  half  hour  it  will  be  done." 

I  saw  her,  even  in  the  dusk,  smile,  and  blush,  and 
tremble. 

The  house  was  that  of  a  widow,  Mrs.  Hunter,  a  great 
friend  of  my  grandmother's,  and  a  fearless  woman  like 
Madam  Arlington.  She  was  indebted  to  us,  moreover, 
in  many  ways,  and  I  did  not  believe  that  she  would  fail 
to  help  us  at  a  time  when  we  needed  help  most.  Nor 
did  she. 

We  dismounted,  William  Penn  took  the  horses,  and 
I  knocked  on  the  door.  The  Eev.  Elkanah  Armstrong 
opened  it,  his  lean,  strong  face  showing  like  a  cameo 
against  the  light. 

"You  have  come  at  last,  thank  God!"  he  said; 
196 


"WHITHER  THOU  GOEST,  I  WILL  GO"        197 

<e  and  you  have  brought  her  with  you.  I  have  had  many 
fears  for  you  both." 

We  entered,  and,  closing  the  door,  he  bent  down 
from  his  great  height  and  kissed  Elinor  on  the  fore- 
head. 

"  You  are  about  to  take  a  great  step,  daughter,"  he 
said,  "  and  to  take  it  under  unusual  circumstances;  but, 
with  so  many  dangers  threatening  you,  I  think  that  it 
is  wisest." 

I  looked  for  Mrs.  Hunter,  in  order  that  I  might  give 
Elinor  to  her  a  little  while,  but  it  was  my  grandmother 
who  came  instead.  She  went  at  once  to  Elinor,  not  no- 
ticing me,  and  took  her  in  her  arms  and  told  her  how 
much  she  loved  her.  There  seemed  to  be  a  strange  pity 
in  my  grandmother's  voice,  and  I  saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 
Then  she  turned  to  me,  and  said: 

"  Did  you  think,  Henry,  that  you  could  be  married 
without  my  knowing  it,  or  even  without  my  being 
present?  " 

"  Grandmother,"  I  said,  "  I  was  afraid,  if  I  told  you, 
that  you  might  forbid  it,  or  that  it  might  bring  trouble 
upon  you.     It  was  a  desperate  venture." 

"  I  knew  that,"  she  replied;  "  but  William  Penn, 
who  has  the  greatest  faith  in  me,  told  me,  and  I  have 
been  waiting  here  many,  many  hours  to  give  you  both 
my  blessing." 

I  was  glad  that  she  came  since  it  had  turned  out  so 
well,  and  I  told  her  how  much  joy  it  was  to  me  that  she 
could  be  present  at  my  wedding. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  replied;  "  I  was  chiding  you  only 
because  I  love  you." 

She  showed  sentiment  so  rarely  that  I  looked  up  in 
surprise,  and  she  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  as  of  old. 

"  I  have  never  realized  until  to-night,  on  the  eve  of 
your  wedding,  what  a  man  you  have  become,  Henry," 
she  said. 

Then  she  took  Elinor  away,  and  William  Penn  came 


198  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

in.  He  proudly  showed  the  marriage  license,  issued  by 
the  county  clerk,  another  friend  of  ours,  and  endorsed 
by  himself  as  my  best  man,  and  voucher  for  my  good 
conduct  and  ability  to  support  a  wife,  according  to  our 
law. 

"  And  I  signed  all  that  under  oath,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  head  ruefully.  "  How  shall  I  ever  get  forgive- 
ness for  it?  " 

"  You  won't  need  any,  "William  Penn,"  I  said,  but  he 
continued  to  shake  his  head. 

It  was  a  full  hour  before  Madam  Arlington  and 
Mrs.  Hunter  returned  with  my  bride,  and  then  she 
stood  before  me  smiling,  and  blushing,  and  trembling 
again,  and  looking  at  me  with  appealing  eyes. 

"  It  is  my  own/'  said  my  grandmother  proudly;  "  I 
was  married  in  it  to  your  grandfather  before  he  went 
to  the  battle  of  New  Orleans.  Did  you  think  that  Eli- 
nor should  be  cheated  of  her  bridal  robe?  and,  0  Henry, 
isn't  she  beautiful  ?  " 

It  was  a  dress  of  lustrous  white  satin,  with  a  flow- 
ered hem,  and  puffed  sleeves  trimmed  with  several  rows 
of  filmy  lace.  There  was  a  pink  rose  in  her  hair,  and 
a  chain  of  pearls  encircled  the  whitest  neck  in  the 
world.  She  blushed  again  when  her  eyes  met  the  ad- 
miring look  of  mine,  and  I  answered  a  fervent  affirma- 
tive to  my  grandmother's  question. 

"  I  have  saved  it  all  these  years,"  said  Madam  Ar- 
lington; "  but  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  keeping  it  for 
the  most  beautiful  bride  that  ever  pleased  these  old 
eyes." 

My  grandmother,  with  all  her  sternness,  was  a 
soft-hearted  woman.  Nodding  her  head  toward  Elinor, 
she  said: 

"  You  are  forgetting  something,  Henry." 

So  there,  before  them  all,  I  kissed  my  bride.  Then 
we  were  married,  the  Eev.  Elkanah  Armstrong  conduct- 
ing the  service;  my  grandmother,  Mrs.  Hunter,  and 


"WHITHER  THOU  GOEST,  I  WILL  GO"        199 

William  Perm  being  the  witnesses.  It  was  a  solemn 
scene,  the  hour,  the  strangeness  of  the  situation,  and 
the  earnest  voice  of  the  minister  adding  to  its  impres- 
siveness.  When  it  was  over  he  bent  down  like  a  father 
and  kissed  Elinor  on  the  cheek,  saying: 

"  My  daughter,  this  is  the  greatest  event  in  the  life 
of  any  one,  above  all  in  the  life  of  a  woman,  and  I 
wish  you  the  happiness  that  I  know  you  deserve." 

"  And  now,"  said  my  grandmother  to  me,  "  you 
must  go.  The  rage  of  a  jealous  and  disappointed  man 
is  pursuing  you,  and  your  life  is  not  safe." 

"  And  you,  grandmother?  "  I  asked. 

"Have  you  ever  known  a  time,  grandson,  when  I 
could  not  take  care  of  myself?  "  she  replied  with  great 
pride;  "  and  you  know,  too,  that  everybody  within 
twenty  miles  of  this  place  is  my  friend.  Do  you  think 
that  they  would  let  any  harm  happen  to  me?  " 

She  spoke  the  truth,  and  my  mind  was  easy  upon 
that  point.  Varian  himself  could  not  allow  her  to  be 
annoyed. 

William  Penn  came  suddenly  into  the  room.  I  had 
not  noticed  until  then  that  he  had  slipped  out  directly 
after  my  marriage. 

"  You  must  go,  and  go  now,  Henry,"  he  cried,  "  or 
you'll  spend  your  honeymoon  under  a  double  guard. 
They  haven't  missed  Miss  Elinor  yet,  at  least  the  news 
hasn't  come  here,  but  soldiers  are  already  in  the  town 
hunting  for  you." 

I  turned  to  tell  Elinor  good-bye,  but  she,  too,  had 
gone  quietly  from  the  room.  Well,  I  would  say  fare- 
well after  I  had  made  my  preparations.  They  were 
brief:  a  little  food  in  a  knapsack,  a  fresh  supply  of  am- 
munition from  William  Penn,  and  some  directions  about 
the  road  from  the  same  unfailing  source. 

"And  now,"  I  said,  "  I  wish  to  tell  Elinor  good-bye." 

She  reappeared,  as  if  my  words  had  summoned  her. 
The  bridal  dress  was  replaced  by  another  of  dark  cloth, 


200  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

and  a  riding  cloak  was  over  her  arm.  Her  eyes  met 
mine,  and  she  smiled  and  then  blushed  at  my  look  of 
surprise. 

"  Did  you  think  that  you  could  run  away  from  me 
so  soon?  "  she  said.     "  I  am  going  with  you." 

"But,  Elinor " 

"  A  wife  should  cleave  to  her  husband  through 
troubles  and  dangers." 

I  wished  to  take  her  with  me  but  I  was  afraid.  Then 
my  grandmother,  ever  a  woman  of  decision  and  clear 
mind,  spoke  up. 

"  She  is  right,"  she  said.  "  They  will  pursue  and 
slay  you  if  they  can,  and  then  Elinor  is  more  completely 
in  their  hands  than  before.  If  you  escape,  you  must 
escape  together." 

The  two  women  bade  each  other  a  long  farewell,  and 
I  saw  tears  in  my  grandmother's  eyes  as  I  had  seen  them 
there  when  I  first  came  to  her. 

"  Remember,  grandson,"  she  said,  "  that  you  now 
have  in  your  keeping  two  lives  that  are  dear  to  me." 

"  We  shall  both  come  back  to  you  safe  and  happy,"  I 
said. 

We  mounted  the  horses,  now  well  rested,  and  turned 
their  faces  toward  the  east.  But  I  was  troubled  about 
William  Penn. 

"  William  Penn,"  I  said,  "  if  you  think  it  unsafe  for 
you  here  you  might  go  with  us." 

"  Never  fear,"  he  replied.  "  Nobody  knows  my 
part,  and  what  would  I  do  away  from  the  place  where 
I've  lived  all  my  life?  " 

A  dozen  people,  most  of  whom  knew  us,  had  gath- 
ered by  the  roadside  and  were  watching  us  with  curios- 
ity, but  none  offered  either  advice  or  interference. 

We  said  another  good-bye,  this  time  the  last,  and 
then  we  rode  toward  the  northeast,  and  into  the 
darkness. 


CHAPTEE   XXV 

THE   FLIGHT   ACEOSS   THE   HILLS 

We  did  not  speak  for  some  time.  The  moon  came 
out  and  cast  a  faint,  silvery  glow.  Elinor's  face  was 
pale,  but  her  eyes  were  bright  and  brave. 

"  Are  you  afraid?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  replied  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Have  you 
not  promised  to  guard  me  ?  " 

The  course  that  I  chose  was  simple.  I  intended 
first  that  we  should  reach  a  town  about  forty  miles  to 
the  eastward,  and  after  a  rest  there  we  would  continue 
in  the  same  way.  The  eastern  part  of  our  State  is  a 
mass  of  mountains,  wild  and  lonely  at  all  times,  but 
far  more  so  in  1862  than  now,  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  scanty  population  was  devoted  to  the  Union  cause. 
Travelling  among  them — and  it  would  not  require  long 
to  reach  the  wilderness — we  would  be  safe.  I  intended, 
after  crossing  the  mountains,  to  take  my  wife  to  her 
uncle,  Paul  Warner,  in  Washington,  and  then  I  would 
offer  myself  for  service  in  the  Eastern  army.  I  could 
not  do  less,  since,  having  volunteered,  I  now  belonged  to 
the  Government.  The  plan  seemed  easy  and  safe  were 
it  not  for  the  anger  and  tenacity  of  Varian,  who  I  be- 
lieved would  not  scruple  to  use  for  his  private  purposes 
the  forces  intrusted  to  his  care  by  the  South.  I  told 
Elinor  briefly  that  I  would  take  her  to  Washington,  and 
asked  if  she  approved. 

201 


202  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  I  think  it  best,"  she  said. 

Then  we  rode  on  in  silence  again.  It  was  a  warm 
summer  night.  The  threatening  clouds  were  gone  and 
only  little  patches  of  harmless  white  floated  in  the  sky. 
It  was  peace  once  more,  and  my  flight  from  my  grand- 
mother's house  and  my  escape  from  the  bullets  seemed 
far  away.  The  road  led  among  the  hills  and  through 
the  forests.  The  branches  of  the  trees,  ghostly  in  the 
dusky  light,  waved  at  us,  but  they  made  no  threat. 
The  houses  were  far  between.  A  dog  barked  at  us 
once,  but  we  rode  on  unheeding. 

"  It  is  like  an  elopement,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  one,  is  it  not?  "  replied  Elinor,  with  a  happy 
little  laugh. 

"  And  you  never  cared  for  Varian?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  He  attracted  me  at  first  with 
his  splendour,  but  when  he  drew  nearer  I  feared  him. 
When  he  sought  to  marry  me  whether  I  would  or  not,  I 
hated  him." 

We  relapsed  into  silence  again,  and  after  a  while  I 
saw  a  slender  bar  of  gray  light  on  the  eastern  edge  of 
the  world.  « 

"  The  day  is  coming,"  I  said;  "  but  the  night  has 
not  been  unhappy,  Elinor." 

The  smile  and  the  blush  pursued  each  other  over  her 
face  again,  and  then  she  answered: 

"  But  think  of  your  responsibilities,  Henry." 

"  My  chief  responsibility  now,"  I  said,  "  is  to  get 
something  for  you  to  eat." 

I  had  food  in  the  knapsack,  but  intending,  too,  that 
she  should  rest  and  sleep,  I  looked  eagerly  for  a  farm- 
house. The  full  day  was  flooding  the  earth,  and  the 
hills  swam  in  the  rosy  light.  I  saw  presently  a  thin 
column  of  blue  smoke  outlined  against  the  clear  sky, 
and  we  rode  toward  it. 

"  We  shall  rest  there,"  I  said  to  Elinor. 

"  Do  you  think  it  safe?  "  she  asked. 


THE  PLIGHT  ACROSS  THE  HILLS  203 

"  We  have  come  at  least  thirty  miles,  and  we  can  not 
afford  to  break  down  our  horses." 

She  said  nothing  more,  but  gave  me  a  glance  of  im- 
plicit trust.  Now,  in  the  morning  light,  she  looked 
tired,  although  she  held  herself  as  bravely  as  ever,  and 
I  knew  that  rest  was  needed. 

It  was  but  a  plain  farmhouse,  and  they  were  plain 
people  who  met  us  when  I  shouted  at  the  door,  a  middle- 
aged  man  and  his  middle-aged  wife,  who  looked  at  us 
with  intense  curiosity  but  asked  no  questions,  a  for- 
bearance for  which  I  was  grateful. 

"  We  have  ridden  all  night,"  I  said,  "  and  the  lady 
is  faint.     Will  you  give  her  food  and  rest?  " 

It  was  the  woman  who  answered,  and  she  did  not 
speak  in  words,  but  she  took  Elinor  in  her  arms  and 
half  carried  her  into  the  house.  Then  they  gave  us 
such  as  they  had,  and  after  that  the  woman  took  Elinor 
away. 

"  She  must  sleep,"  she  said  when  she  returned  alone. 
*  Do  you  ride  far?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  «  and  for  life." 

The  woman  made  no  reply  at  the  moment,  resuming 
her  household  work.  But  she  turned  to  me  presently 
as  I  sat  by  the  window,  and  said : 

"  I  do  not  know  who  you  are,  nor  she,  and  these 
are  bad  times,  but  tell  me  that  you  are  doing  no  wrong." 

"  We  were  married  last  night,"  I  replied,  "  and  I 
ani  taking  my  wife  to  her  own  uncle.  Those  who 
threaten  us  have  no  claim." 

She  said  no  more,  but  went  into  Elinor's  room  and 
came  back  presently  with  word  that  she  was  sleeping. 
"  Poor  child!  "  she  said,  "  what  a  bridal  morning!  " 

I  went  out  to  help  the  farmer  look  after  the  horses, 
which  needed  rest  as  badly  as  we,  and  to  watch  for  pur- 
suit. The  man  was  like  his  wife,  sparing  in  words  but 
good  of  deed. 

"  These  are  fine  horses,"  he  said. 
14 


204  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  with  grateful  recollections  of  Wil- 
liam Penn,  "  they  were  chosen  by  one  who  knew." 
Then  I  asked  him  the  distance  to  the  town  at  which  I 
intended  to  make  our  first  stop,  and  he  answered  that  it 
was  twenty  miles. 

"  But  the  road  is  rough,"  he  said.  "  The  hills  get 
steeper  the  farther  you  go." 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  looking  back  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  we  had  ridden,  seeking  traces  of  pur- 
suing horsemen. 

"  It's  twenty  miles  by  the  straight  road,"  resumed 
the  man;  "  but  there  is  a  path  a  few  miles  longer,  which 
one  who  does  not  want  to  be  overtaken  might  follow, 
even  if  he  got  there  a  little  later." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  friendly  hint,  and  offered  him 
money — I  had  with  me  a  plentiful  supply  of  both  gold 
and  bank  notes — but  he  would  take  nothing,  nor  would 
his  wife.  "  We  do  this  for  the  girl's  pretty  face,"  she 
said. 

Then  Elinor  came  forth,  glowing  with  restored 
health  and  strength,  and  we  rode  on,  the  kindly  couple 
watching  us  until  we  passed  out  of  sight. 

"  It  is  a  good  world  after  all,  is  it  not?  "  said  Elinor 
with  a  happy  smile;  "  and  there  are  good  people  in  it, 
are  there  not,  Henry?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  when  one  comes  to  them  with  a 
face  like  yours." 

"  For  shame,  sir,  to  make  such  an  absurd  compli- 
ment to  your  own  wife!  " 

We  followed  the  path  as  the  man  had  described  it  to 
me,  and  it  led  among  the  lonely  and  higher  hills.  We 
passed  few  houses,  and  they  were  only  cabins  set  in  the 
little  coves.  The  summer  was  fading,  and  the  edges  of 
the  leaves  had  begun  to  turn  dry  and  curl  up.  The  air 
was  pure  and  crisp  with  the  early  breath  of  autumn, 
and  we  heard  the  light  wind  singing  among  the  leaves. 
We  saw  the  white  and  dusty  road  once  or  twice  below  us, 


THE  PLIGHT  ACROSS  THE  HILLS  205 

curving  around  the  base  of  hills,  but  unyielding  to 
temptation  we  remained  in  the  higher  and  more  diffi- 
cult path. 

We  were  two  hours  on  the  way,  when  Elinor  put  her 
hand  upon  my  arm  and  pointed  to  the  valley  below  us. 

"  Blanchard  and  his  men,"  she  said. 

I  was  devoutly  thankful  now  for  the  farmer's  ad- 
vice, and  also  for  the  trees  that  sheltered  our  path. 
Blanchard  and  about  twenty  troopers  were  riding  on  the 
road  parallel  with  us.  We  saw  them  distinctly  through 
the  leaves. 

"  They  obtained  the  direction  from  some  one  in  the 
village,"  I  said,  as  I  stopped  the  horses,  "  and  they 
think  to  overtake  us.     We  shall  let  them  pass." 

We  watched  them  until  the  road  made  another  curve 
around  a  hill,  and  the  last  we  saw  was  the  flash  of  steel 
from  a  soldier's  rifle  barrel.  We  had  escaped  them 
easily;  but  since  they  would  ride  to  Hungerford,  the 
town  to  which  we  had  intended  to  go,  the  pursuit  had 
become  a  grave  matter.  Varian  was  not  with  the  troop- 
ers, but  I  had  recognised  Blanchard  at  their  head,  and  I 
knew  that  he  was  not  a  man  who  would  abandon  the 
pursuit  quickly. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Elinor,  thinking  the 
same  thought. 

"  We  must  turn  toward  the  South,"  I  answered,  and 
I  named  another  town  which  I  believed  that  we  could 
reach  before  night.  She  uttered  no  word  of  fear  or 
complaint,  and  we  rode  on  the  new  course,  arriving  at 
our  destination  a  little  earlier  than  I  had  expected.  I 
gave  Elinor  again  into  the  charge  of  a  hospitable  farm- 
er's wife,  and  we  continued  early  the  next  morning  to- 
ward "the  east,  finding  ourselves  now  on  the  first  slopes 
of  the  mountains  and  in  country  which  could  be  truly 
called  doubtful  ground,  ridden  over  by  the  armed  parti- 
sans of  both  North  and  South;  by  bands  that  claimed  to 
belong  to  either,  according  to  their  convenience,  and 


206  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

w ho  robbed  according  to  their  pleasure.  Yet  we  saw  no 
enemy,  and  I  began  to  believe  that  we  had  eluded 
Blanchard,  although  I  knew  that  even  in  such  a  thinly- 
settled  region  news  travels  fast  and  we  could  not  hope 
to  pass  unnoticed. 

It  turned  warmer  again,  and  the  country  was 
strangely  lonely.  Below  us  lay  a  little  valley,  but  it  was 
still  and  dead;  the  heat  hung  over  it  in  a  fine  yellow 
haze;  there  was  no  ripple  of  a  breeze  in  the  grass.  A 
shallow  brook  crept  bravely  over  its  brown  sands.  Far 
up  the  valley  was  a  house,  but  it  seemed  desolate. 
We  began  to  feel  as  if  we  were  exiles.  Great  armies 
were  marching;  the  fate  of  a  nation  was  impend- 
ing, and  only  we  two  rode  between  earth  and  sky. 
Whatever  was  happening  was  happening  without  us, 
and  yet  we  were  content. 

We  rode  into  the  valley  and  across  it,  not  meeting 
any  human  being  nor  hearing  the  sound  of  one.  It 
was  just  the  same  drowsy  summer  afternoon,  with  the 
waves  of  heat  rolling  up  from  the  south,  and  the  rays  of 
the  western  sun  striking  with  dazzling  brightness  on 
hill  and  level. 

We  crossed  the  valley  and  again  were  in  the  rolling 
country,  but  gazing  beyond  into  another  and  farther 
valley  on  the  way  we  could  see  neither  soldier  nor  civil- 
ian; only  the  hills  and  the  forests.  When  I  looked 
back  I  noticed  that  the  brightness  of  the  sun  was 
dimmed  in  the  east;  a  faint  gray  mist  was  creeping 
through  the  golden  glow,  and  the  trees  on  the  crest  of 
the  hills  were  blurred;  the  day  was  closing,  and  now  I 
saw  no  farmhouse  to  shelter  Elinor.  I  produced  cold 
food,  and  then  dismounting,  that  our  tired  horses 
might  rest,  we  ate  our  little  supper  and  watched  the 
night  come  in  the  east. 

The  forest,  at  the  horizon's  edge,  grew  misty  and 
indistinct,  then  faded,  a  golden  glow  hung  over  the  tree- 
tops  for  a  few  moments  and  fled,  the  hills  sank  away, 


THE  FLIGHT  ACROSS  THE  HILLS  207 

and  the  valley  became  invisible;  all  the  east  was  gone, 
and  the  twilight  passed  on  over  the  circle  of  the  heavens 
into  the  mist,  where  the  sun  yet  lingered,  a  shield  of 
red  fire.  The  long  rays  of  intense  light  fell  like  lances 
across  hill,  valley,  and  plain,  shone  there  a  while  and 
then  were  gone;  the  sun  slid  down  behind  the  highest 
hill,  a  cloud  of  red  and  gold,  the  colours  rising  above 
each  like  terraces,  marking  for  a  little  where  it  had 
sunk,  then  the  luminous  cloud  yielded  to  the  shadows, 
and  the  world  was  clothed  in  darkness. 

We  expected  coolness  to  come  with  the  night,  but 
the  air  swam  in  a  heavy,  damp  heat,  that  relaxed  the 
muscles  and  dimmed  the  brightness  of  the  mind.  In 
this  prison  of  thick,  vaporous  air,  energy  seemed  to  be 
going,  and  we  felt  a  sense  of  depression. 

The  heat  increased;  the  clouds  were  rolling  like 
waves  across  the  sky.  From  the  southwest  behind  the 
hills  came  a  hum,  and  I  knew  that  a  storm  would  soon 
be  upon  us.  I  took  the  army  coat  of  rubber  which  the 
provident  William  Penn  had  tied  to  my  saddle,  and 
wrapped  it  around  Elinor. 

The  hum  in  the  southwest  turned  to  a  mutter,  then 
grew  to  a  roar,  the  lightning  flamed  in  flash  after 
flash  across  the  sky  like  the  swift  strokes  of  a  gigantic 
sword-blade,  the  thunder  boomed  in  long,  rolling 
crashes,  and  then  rushing  and  roaring  the  rain  came, 
sweeping  in  blinding  sheets  through  the  forests,  and 
over  the  hills  and  valleys,  and  flowing  in  little  rivers  of 
mud  and  water  in  every  path  and  road. 

The  dry  earth  for  a  time  received  the  rain  into 
itself  and  was  glad;  the  cracks  and  seams,  made  by  the 
heat,  filled  up;  the  thirsty  grass,  refreshed,  raised  its 
head,  the  dry  foliage  lost  its  brown,  and  blossomed  anew 
in  freshest  green.  The  hot  earth  steamed  at  first  with 
the  vapours  that  rose,  but  presently  the  air  began  to 
turn  cool,  and  the  whole  earth  soaked  in  the  steady 
pour. 


208  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

We  stopped  under  the  thick  boughs  of  a  tree  and 
sought  protection  from  the  rain,  but  I  soon  saw  that 
the  effort  was  useless;  it  beat  through  the  leaves  and 
upon  us,  and,  knowing  nothing  else  to  do,  we  rode  slowly. 
on  hoping  that  it  would  soon  cease,  its  mission  to  cool 
and  moisten  the  thirsty  earth  finished.  But  it  did  not 
cease;  the  clouds  still  rolled  across  the  sky,  and  no  light 
showed  there  save  when  the  lightning  flamed  through; 
the  thunder  crashed  in  irregular  volleys,  and  the  rain 
swept  on,  sheet  after  sheet,  in  unceasing  repetition. 

It  was  a  summer  storm  of  lightning,  thunder,  and 
rain,  a  peculiar  product  of  our  American  weather,  but 
none  the  less  violent  and  uncomfortable  because  of  its 
peculiarity.  The  wants  of  the  thirsty  earth  had  been 
satisfied  long  since,  but  it  pounded  on,  the  water  sweep- 
ing in  torrents  down  the  hillsides,  and  the  wind  whist- 
ling and  moaning  among  the  trees. 

In  the  darkness,  which  was  deep  save  when  lit  up  by 
the  lightning,  we  wandered  from  the  road  and  could  not 
find  it  again.  We  had  trusted  to  our  horses,  but  their 
spirit  was  gone,  and  lowering  their  heads  they  waited 
for  us  to  guide.  The  wet  bushes  and  the  slender  boughs 
of  the  trees  swished  across  our  faces  and  tore  our 
clothes.  Our  horses'  feet  sank  deep  in  the  soft  earth, 
and  they  stumbled  with  our  weight;  we  let  the  reins  go, 
leaving  it  to  their  instinct  to  wander  to  the  safest  path. 
The  lightning  which  blazed  so  often  in  our  faces  only 
dazzled  us,  not  showing  the  way,  and  the  moment  the 
flash  was  gone  the  darkness  settled  around  us  again, 
thick,  close,  and  impervious;  the  thunder  crashed,  and 
then  the  echo  rolled  far  among  the  hills  like  the  rumble 
of  marching  artillery;  the  boughs  cracked  before  the 
wind  and  fell,  and  in  the  darkness  we  heard  the  sweep 
of  new  torrents,  and  the  thud  of  the  soft  earth  falling 
from  the  hillsides  into  the  valley  below.  But  we  strug- 
gled on,  and  Elinor,  turning  a  cheerful  face  to  me, 
smiled,  and  said  we  must  expect  some  hardships. 


THE   FLIGHT  ACROSS  THE   HILLS  209 

The  lightning  stopped  by-and-bye,  dying  away  in  a 
few  faint  jets;  the  thunder  rumbled  among  the  hills  for 
the  last  time  and  was  gone;  the  wind  no  longer  moaned 
and  shrieked,  and  the  snapping  of  the  boughs,  which 
had  sounded  like  volleys  of  pistol  shots,  ceased,  but  the 
rain  poured  down  in  a  steady,  even  flow,  as  if  it  would 
end  only  with  the  night.  I  was  glad  that  the  lightning 
had  gone,  but  this  monotonous  and  unbroken  beat  of 
the  water  was  sombre  and  promised  no  rest. 

We  rode  on  for  hours,  hearing  nothing  but  the 
steady  drumming  of  the  rain,  the  occasional  sticky  sigh 
of  the  yielding  earth  as  it  slid  away  from  the  hill  and 
fell  into  the  valley  below.  The  thick  vapours  began  to 
rise  again  from  the  steaming  earth,  but  the  clouds 
parted  after  awhile,  and  a  pale  glimmer  of  sky  appeared, 
though  the  rain  did  not  cease.  The  night  light  was  too 
faint  to  disclose  the  way,  and  merely  imparted  a  ghostly 
quality  to  the  dripping  forest  and  blur  of  hills  that 
showed  through;  the  boughs  reached  out  long  arms  try- 
ing to  hold  us  back,  and  here  and  there  they  were 
crossed  in  such  queer  shapes  that  the  black  lines  made 
gigantic  faces. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  a  time  had  passed  when  we 
heard  the  regular  beat  of  horses'  feet;  at  first  it  seemed 
to  be  ahead  of  us,  then  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other; 
but  at  last  I  decided  that  it  was  behind  us,  and  ap- 
proaching. Our  horses  had  drifted  into  some  kind  of 
path,  and  we  turned  them  back  into  the  woods,  not 
knowing  who  rode  behind,  nor,  in  truth,  whether  it  was 
our  fancy  playing  us  some  strange  trick. 

The  muffled  thud  of  footsteps  in  soft  earth  grew 
louder,  and  a  ghostly  legion  rode  by,  a  hundred  or  more 
in  single  file,  in  the  faded  gray  of  the  Southern  army, 
their  caps  drawn  low  and  little  streams  of  water  running 
down  their  faces,  their  heads  bent  over,  every  man 
silent,  and  riding  as  if  he  were  without  life  and  tied  to 
his  horse;  the  horses  themselves  drooped  heavy  heads, 


210  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

and  the  reins  hung  on  their  saddle-horns.  All  was 
sombre  and  silent;  no  gleam  of  metal  or  colour  lighted 
up  the  procession,  and  thus  it  passed  silently  by;  out  of 
the  mists  and  vapours  it  came,  and  into  the  mists  and 
vapours  it  went. 

Day  dawned,  and  the  brisk  sunshine  soon  made  us 
dry  and  warm,  and  after  a  little  more  of  the  cold  food 
and  water,  and  a  stop  to  rest  our  weary  horses,  we  re- 
sumed our  journey. 

I  was  glad  to  note  by  the  sun  that  we  still  rode  to 
the  northeast,  and  thus  had  kept  the  true  direction.  We 
would  go  on.  We  must  meet  some  one  soon  who  could 
tell  us  where  we  were,  and  as  I  formed  the  resolution  we 
saw  from  the  hill  upon  which  we  stood  a  troop  of 
mounted  men  appear  in  the  valley  below. 

They  were  far  off,  but  the  dazzling  light  shone  full 
upon  the  horsemen,  and  my  heart  leaped  within  me 
when  I  recognised  the  blue  uniforms  of  the  North,  the 
welcome  colour  for  which  I  had  been  straining  my  eyes 
so  long.  Surely  we  could  find  shelter  in  the  Northern 
lines.  They  rode  in  a  long  column,  heads  erect,  their 
faces  to  the  wind  and  the  north,  not  like  the  drooping 
and  sombre  procession  that  we  had  seen  the  night  be- 
fore. 

The  notes  of  a  trumpet,  mellow,  inspiring,  and  clear, 
came  up  from  the  valley  and  echoed  through  the  woods 
and  hills,  where  it  died  in  a  soft  and  liquid  note.  The 
horsemen  stopped  and  formed  in  a  line  across  the  mead- 
ow. We  wondered  what  this  meant,  but  looking  up  the 
valley,  we  saw  another  troop  of  horsemen  emerge  from 
a  wood,  and  they  were  in  gray,  not  in  blue.  Our  own 
progress  would  have  to  await  the  issue  of  a  battle. 

The  valley  lay  before  us  like  a  board,  and  the  men 
moved  upon  it  in  perfect  unison,  their  figures  decreased 
a  little  by  the  distance,  but  their  features  almost  visible 
in  the  faultless  sunlight.  Again  the  trumpet  notes, 
mellow,  cheerful,  and  echoing,  came  up  to  us,  but  this 


THE  FLIGHT  ACROSS  THE  HILLS  211 

time  it  was  the  Southern  trumpet  that  sounded.  The 
two  lines  of  horsemen  moved  toward  each  other. 

We  dismounted,  and  while  I  held  the  bridles  of  both 
horses  we  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  hill,  intent  upon  the 
battle  that  was  about  to  unroll  before  us.  Elinor's  lips 
parted,  her  face  pale  and  her  eyes  shining. 

The  speed  of  the  approaching  lines  increased  from  a 
walk  to  a  canter;  little  jets  of  flame  burst  from  each, 
and  the  rattle  of  carbine  and  pistol  shots  came  to  our 
waiting  ears.  It  was  a  sputtering  fire,  now  rising,  now 
falling,  then  dying  away,  but  beginning  again  in  a 
moment.  Little  clouds  of  white  smoke  rose,  but  were 
soon  left  behind  by  the  swift  riders.  Some  horses,  sad- 
dles empty,  still  kept  their  places,  and  galloped  shoulder 
to  shoulder  with 'their  comrades.  It  was  a  fine  specta- 
cle seen  from  afar,  full  of  life,  spirit,  and  movement, 
and  the  wounds  were  hid. 

The  strip  of  green  between  the  approaching  lines 
narrowed  rapidly;  they  seemed  about  to  melt  into  one. 
The  pistol  fire  died  like  an  echo,  and  was  succeeded  by 
silence.  We  were  too  far  away  for  the  tread  of  the 
horses  to  reach  us,  but  this  silence  lasted  only  a  mo- 
ment. Two  lines  of  sabres  glittered  in  the  air,  and  then 
the  opposing  horsemen  hurled  themselves  upon  each 
other.  We  heard  the  crash  and  the  shouts,  and  saw  the 
sabres  as  they  rose  and  fell. 

There  was  for  a  moment  a  confused  and  mingled 
mass  of  men  and  horses,  and  we  hung  over  it  breathless, 
until  out  of  the  tumult  and  turmoil  one  line  of  riders 
emerged  in  the  semblance  of  order,  leaving  the  other 
only  a  huddle.  The  men  in  blue  still  rode,  and  the  men 
in  gray  were  down. 

The  line  of  blue  horsemen  turned  back,  and  the 
sabres  rose  again.  The  gray  must  choose  between 
death  and  surrender. 

But  the  notes  of  another  trumpet  came  from  the 
woods,  and  another  body  of  horsemen,  compact  and 


212  IN  CIRCLING   CAMPS 

numerous,  galloped  toward  the  field  of  conflict.  These, 
too,  were  in  gray,  and  they  outnumbered  the  little 
Northern  band  fivefold. 

A  shout  of  triumph  burst  from  the  second  battalion 
in  gray,  and  reached  us  as  we  stood  upon  our  hill.  The 
cavalry  in  blue  stopped,  fired  a  few  scattering  shots,  and 
galloped  down  the  valley,  disappearing.  The  others 
did  not  pursue,  but  gathered  around  their  defeated  com- 
rades, took  up  the  dead,  and  then  passed  out  of  the 
valley  at  the  other  end,  Southerners  and  Northerners 
disappearing  in  different  directions.  Thus  died  my 
hope  of  sheltering  Elinor  behind  the  Northern  sabres. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

AT   LAST   CHANCE 

"  I  am  glad  that  we  were  no  nearer,"  said  Elinor,  and 
I  knew  that  she  was  thinking  not  of  herself,  but  of  the 
men  who  were  lying  out  there  in  the  valley,  and  who 
would  smile  no  more.  War  is  a  terrible  thing  for 
woman  to  look  upon. 

We  reached  a  village  at  noon,  where  we  found  rest 
and  food  for  ourselves  and  the  horses.  Many  questions, 
natural  to  the  dwellers  in  lonely  places,  were  asked 
us  here,  but  I  told  a  part  of  the  truth,  saying  that  my 
wife  and  I  were  going  to  the  East,  and  wished  to  pass 
as  far  away  from  the  path  of  the  war  as  possible.  They 
advised  us  to  beware  of  the  roving  bands  of  partisans 
who  were  committing  many  atrocities,  and  we  con- 
tinued on  our  way,  soon  arriving  in  the  region  that  was 
distinctly  mountainous.  Here  autumn  was  advancing 
on  the  uplands.  The  leaves  were  beginning  to  burn 
with  vivid  reds,  and  yellows,  and  browns,  and  the  air 
was  strong  like  wine. 

Elinor,  who  had  been  grave  and  quiet  during  the 
early  part  of  our  journey,  now  became  a  sprite.  Never 
had  I  seen  her  when  the  play  of  her  fancy  was  more 
brilliant.  I  was  the  subject  of  many  a  jest,  but  never 
an  unfeeling  one.  I  think  it  was  youth  and  happiness 
in  her  veins,  her  escape  from  the  life  and  dangers  that 
she  dreaded,  and  the  quiet  world  through  which  we  now 
rode.     The  roses,  which  had  paled  a  little  in  her  cheeks 

213 


214  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

under  the  stress  of  danger  and  hardship,  bloomed  afresh 
and  in  more  vivid  colours.  Never  have  I  seen  a  finer 
spirit  and  a  greater  courage.  She  would  not  anticipate 
disaster,  but  expected  only  good  fortune.  She  talked 
of  those  whom  we  had  left  behind,  and  those  whom  we 
expected  to  find  in  the  East.  She  laughed  at  William 
Penn,  and  in  the  same  breath  thanked  him.  She  spoke 
gently  of  my  grandmother,  and  of  her  aunt,  too,  who 
she  was  sure  would  forgive  her.  She  wondered  where 
Major  Titus  Tyler  was,  and  if  we  would  see  in  the  East 
Pembroke,  and  Tourville,  and  Mason,  and  all  the  others 
we  had  known. 

I  knew  that  my  loyalty  was  due  to  the  army,  but  I 
did  not  wish  the  happiest  journey  of  my  life  to  end 
soon,  and  so  we  made  no  haste  for  a  while.  There  is 
but  one  true  honeymoon  in  every  man's  or  woman's  life, 
and  nothing  can  replace  it.  A  country  of  thirty  mil- 
lions could  not  miss  one  humble  soldier,  and  my  con- 
science was  at  ease  while  I  looked  upon  the  woman  who 
rode  beside  me,  and  felt  that  even  in  war  life  may  be 
sweet. 

The  autumnal  colours  deepened.  The  mountains 
glowed  with  their  varying  colours,  and  a  fine  haze 
like  that  of  Indian  summer  clothed  the  ridges.  We 
saw  far  away  the  smoke  of  forest  fires,  and  now  and 
then  the  crack  of  a  rifle  shot  came  to  our  ears,  but  it  was 
only  a  hunter,  and  we  saw  and  heard  no  enemy.  The 
war  now  seemed  to  us  a  vague  and  distant  quarrel  in 
which  we  were  not  concerned,  and  yet  if  we  had  sought 
more  closely  through  the  valleys  and  coves  through 
which  we  were  passing  we  could  have  found  its  trail. 
Both  sides  had  drawn  troops  from  among  the  lank 
mountain  boys,  but  the  North  had  been  the  greater 
gainer  by  far.  They  fired  at  each  other  sometimes 
from  the  mountain  ambushes,  but  no  one  disturbed  us. 

We  had  been  nearly  two  weeks  on  the  way,  riding 
through  beautiful  weather,  and  were  deep  in  the  moun- 


AT  LAST  CHANCE  215 

tains,  when  we  reached  a  tiny  hamlet  called  Last  Chance. 
There  were  not  more  than  twenty  houses  in  the  place, 
and  they  were  all  of  logs,  but  it  was  a  picturesque  little 
village,  lying  in  an  angle  of  a  narrow  valley  with  a  clear 
mountain  torrent  rushing  at  its  feet.  I  decided  that 
we  should  rest  here  a  day  before  crossing  the  highest 
and  loneliest  peaks,  and,  as  usual,  it  was  easy  enough 
to  find  a  place  for  Elinor.  Her  face  and  manner  were 
an  unfailing  passport  to  the  favour  of  the  mountain 
wives,  and  an  hour  after  we  arrived  she  was  comfortably 
installed  in  the  best  room  in  the  best  house  in  the  place, 
while  I  found  quarters  fifty  yards  away,  with  the  only 
shopkeeper  in  Last  Chance.  I  sat  in  his  queer  little 
store,  while  Elinor  was  sleeping,  and  saw  the  mountain 
men,  some  still  in  the  coonskin  cap  and  buckskins  of 
the  pioneers,  come  in  and  bargain  with  their  furs  for 
what  they  thought  they  needed  most,  and  that  seemed 
to  be  powder  and  bullets. 

I  took  my  supper  with  Elinor  and  then  walked  back 
in  the  dark  toward  my  own  room.  When  I  was  half- 
way between  I  heard  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  the  gallop  of 
cavalry,  and  in  a  moment  thirty  or  forty  men  rode  down 
the  trail  into  the  village.  It  was  clear  moonlight,  and 
the  leader  raised  a  shout  when  he  saw  me.  I  knew  him. 
It  was  Blanchard,  who,  I  had  thought,  must  have  quit 
the  pursuit  long  since. 

My  pulses  seemed  to  stop  beating  for  a  moment,  and 
I  claim  that  it  was  not  fear  for  myself.  I  can  say  truly 
that  my  first  thought  was  of  Elinor.  As  I  hesitated  a 
moment,  uncertain  what  to  do,  Blanchard  fired  at  me 
with  his  pistol,  the  bullet  whizzing  near  my  face.  I 
drew  my  own  weapon  and  sent  a  return  shot,  but  missed 
Blanchard,  and  instead  struck  the  man  just  behind  him, 
who  fell  from  his  horse.  Then  the  bullets  began  to 
patter  around  me,  and,  seeing  the  futility  of  flight  or 
further  resistance,  I  held  up  my  hands  as  a  sign  that  I 
surrendered. 


216  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  It  was  a  long  chase,  but  we  brought  down  the  game 
at  last/'  said  Blanchard  as  they  bound  my  arms;  "  and 
I'll  wager  that  the  girl  can't  be  far  away." 

His  face  for  almost  the  first  time  since  I  knew  him 
showed  expression.     His  satisfaction  was  undisguised. 

"She's  near,  isn't  she,  hey,  Mr.  Kingsford?"  he 
said;  "  or  were  you  getting  ready  to  run  off  with  some 
other  girl?     I  fear  that  gay  fellows  like  you  are  fickle." 

"  My  arms  are  bound,  Mr.  Blanchard,"  I  replied, 
"  and  so  it  is  safe  for  you  to  say  whatever  you  please." 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  then  I  heard  the  quick 
step  of  light  feet,  the  flutter  of  a  dress,  and  Elinor's 
arms  were  about  my  neck. 

"  Yes,  Elinor,"  I  said,  "  it  is  Blanchard,  and  they 
have  taken  us.  It  was  my  carelessness,  but  I  thought 
that  they  had  turned  back  long  ago." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  bind  him?  "  asked  Elinor, 
turning  indignantly  upon  Blanchard.  "  He  is  a  pris- 
oner of  war." 

"  He  is  too  slippery,  Miss  Maynard,"  replied  Blanch- 
ard; "  and  he  is  especially  wanted." 

"  They  can  not  harm  you;  they  can  only  take  you 
back,"  said  Elinor  bravely,  and  then  she  said  to  Blanch- 
ard, with  a  flash  of  warlike  fire  in  her  eyes,  "  I  shall  not 
permit  you  to  harm  him;  he  is  my  husband." 

"How  can  you  prove  that?"  asked  Blanchard,  his 
face  distorting  into  an  ugly  grin. 

I  struggled  to  break  the  cords  that  bound  my  arms, 
but  they  held  fast.  Oh,  for  only  five  minutes  of  free- 
dom! I  saw  now  why  he  called  her  Miss  Maynard,  and 
yet  the  motive  seemed  too  base.  Elinor  flushed  a  deep 
crimson,  and  then  became  white.  But  she  turned  her 
back  upon  Blanchard  with  an  expression  of  scorn. 

"  I  wish  you  not  to  speak  to  me  again,"  she  said. 

"  As  you  please,"  he  replied  coolly;  "  but  meantime 
we'll  guard  you  too,  my  lady,  as  you  are  wanted  as  well 
as  he." 


AT  LAST  CHANCE  217 

The  villagers  gathered,  but  they  could  not  have 
rescued  us  from  a  troop  of  cavalry  even  had  they  felt 
disposed  to  do  so.  Their  looks  showed  sympathy. 
Blanchard  noticed  it,  and  he  said: 

"  He  is  a  deserter,  and,  besides,  he  stole  a  young  girl 
from  her  home." 

"  Both  are  lies,"  I  said.  "  I  was  a  prisoner,  but  I 
escaped,  and  the  lady  is  my  wife." 

I  saw  that  they  believed  me,  and  I  felt  a  pleasure  in 
it.  I  wished  to  be  justified  even  in  the  minds  of  those 
humble  mountain  people  who  had  never  seen  me  before, 
and  who  probably  would  never  see  me  again. 

Blanchard  proceeded  with  the  authority  of  a  dicta- 
tor, and  was  as  unscrupulous.  He  told  Elinor  that  she 
could  return  to  her  room,  but  a  guard  would  be  placed 
around  the  house.  She  kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  after 
the  fashion  of  my  grandmother,  and  said: 

"  You  shall  escape  yet,  Henry,  and  wherever  you  go 
I  will  go  with  you." 

Blanchard  sneered,  but  said  nothing.  I,  too,  was  re- 
turned to  my  room,  but  my  arms  remained  bound,  and  a 
sentinel,  rifle  in  hand,  stood  inside  the  door. 

"  I  shall  not  take  any  chances  with  you,  my  pretty 
fellow,"  said  Blanchard.  "  I  warned  the  colonel,  back 
there  at  Silver  Bow,  that  you  might  escape,  but  he  was 
too  confident.  The  greatest  men  even  have  their  weak 
moments." 

Blanchard's  language  and  accent  were  good,  and  I 
looked  at  him  with  curiosity,  wondering  why  he  should 
be  willing  to  do  Varian's  ugly  work  for  him.  But  his 
face  was  inscrutable,  and  in  a  moment  he  left  me  alone 
with  the  sentinel. 

A  tallow  candle  burned  on  a  table,  and  I  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  my  bound  arms  paining  me  some- 
what. I  was  not  sleepy,  and  tried  to  engage  the  sentinel 
in  conversation,  but  he  refused  to  answer.  Time  then 
passed  with  the  greatest  monotony  and  slowness,  but  in 


218  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

an  hour  Blanchard  came  back  and  said  that  he  wished 
to  talk  with  me. 

"  I  decline  to  say  a  word,  no  matter  what  the  sub- 
ject," I  replied,  "  unless  you  unbind  me.  I  can't  escape 
anyhow,  guarded  as  I  am." 

"  I  think  that's  true,"  he  replied,  "  and  while  I  am 
here  I  have  no  fear  that  you  will  try  it." 

He  ordered  my  arms  unbound,  and  told  the  sentinel 
to  stand  outside  the  door,  but  to  be  ready  with  his 
weapon  if  he  were  called.  Then  he  sat  down  by  the 
table  in  the  only  chair  that  the  room  contained,  while 
I  remained  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  The  light  of 
the  candle  nickered  over  his  face,  and  I  noticed  how 
heavy,  strong,  and  unscrupulous  it  was. 

"  Mr.  Kingsford,"  said  Blanchard,  "  I  am  not  going 
to  take  you  and  Miss  Maynard  back  to  Kentucky." 

"  Mrs.  Kingsford,  if  you  please,"  I  replied,  "  or  I 
refuse  to  listen  to  another  word." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  replied,  "  Mrs.  Kingsford 
let  it  be,  for  the  sake  of  courtesy.  Nobody  shall  say  that 
I  lack  manners.  You  would  not  think,  would  you,  to 
find  such  pride  in  a  rough  man  like  me?  And  I  repeat 
that  I  am  not  going  to  take  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kingsford 
back  to  Kentucky." 

"  Why  not?  "  I  asked  with  interest. 

"  Because  Colonel  Varian,  my  friend  and  employer, 
has  preceded  you  to  the  East.  This  escape  of  yours, 
and  your  kidnapping  the  young  lady  for  whom  he  in- 
tended the  high  honour  of  being  his  wife,  upset  all  his 
plans.  It  was  altogether  likely  that  your  flight  would 
take  you  to  the  eastward,  and  he  learned,  too,  from 
good  evidence,  that  it  had  done  so.  Then  he  used  his 
influence,  which  you  and  I  know  to  be  powerful,  to  have 
himself  transferred  to  a  command  in  the  East,  in  order 
that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  and  the 
young  lady  when  you  arrived  there.  Don't  you  feel  flat- 
tered because  your  own  movements  compel  so  many 


AT  LAST   CHANCE  219 

others  to  go  in  the  same  direction?  Meanwhile  I  took 
a  select  body  of  troopers  and  followed  on  your  trail 
through  the  mountains,  which  was  not  a  hard  thing  to 
do,  as  I  heard  of  you  several  times  before  I  succeeded  in 
catching  you  in  this  little  town  so  aptly  named  Last 
Chance,  for  here  you  saw  your  last  chance  go.  Colonel 
Varian  wanted  to  do  this  work  himself,  but  it  was  not 
wise  for  him  to  come,  and,  besides,  he  knew  that  he  had 
a  competent  and  faithful  lieutenant,  Covin  Blanch- 
ard,  Esquire,  at  your  service  " 

"  All  this  may  be  interesting,"  I  said,  "  but  you 
have  now  told  the  tale." 

"  These  are  merely  preliminaries,"  he  resumed; 
"  but  I  have  a  message  for  you  from  Colonel  Varian. 
You  know  that  he  is  a  man  accustomed  to  having  his 
own  way,  and  he  had  his  heart  set  upon  this  girl.  I  re- 
peat that  even  the  greatest  men  have  their  weaknesses. 
He  was  in  a  terrible  rage  when  he  heard  that  you  had  es- 
caped; but  that  was  nothing  to  his  fury  when  he  found 
that  you  had  stolen  his  bride  and  taken  her  with  you. 
The  thunder  rolled  and  the  lightning  flashed,  and  some 
of  us  were  afraid  that  we  were  going  to  get  struck  by  a 
thunderbolt.  Even  I,  Covin  Blanchard,  who  claim  to 
fear  nobody,  had  a  pretty  bad  half  hour,  and  I  redeem 
my  credit  only  by  the  recapture  of  you  and  Miss  May — 
Mrs.  Kingsford,  I  mean." 

It  was  my  impulse  again  to  strike  him,  as  his  intent 
was  too  obvious,  but  I  restrained  myself,  and  he  re- 
sumed: 

"  Colonel  Varian  is  not  a  man  to  be  discouraged,  and 
he  at  once  set  about  the  pursuit  of  you  two,  still  de- 
termined that  the  young  lady  should  be  his,  and  not 
yours.  Mrs.  Arlington  and  that  confounded  minister 
said  that  you  and  the  girl  were  married,  but  those  hasty 
ceremonies  are  sometimes  imperfect,  and  Colonel  Va- 
rian would  not  let  such  a  trifle  stand  in  his  way.  Keep 
your  anger!  I  am  merely  giving  you  the  view  that  the 
15 


220  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

colonel  takes  of  it,  and  I  have  to  do  it  to  make  you 
understand  the  situation.  His  orders  to  me  were  to 
bring  you  and  the  girl  to  him  in  Virginia,  and  under  no 
circumstances  to  permit  your  escape  again.  My  men 
were  to  shoot  you  at  your  first  attempt,  and  any  little 
movement,  you  know,  may  look  like  an  attempt." 

Both  accent  and  words  were  full  of  sinister  mean- 
ing, and  I  understood  thoroughly. 

"  Now  it's  superfluous  for  me  to  say,  Mr.  Kingsford, 
that  you  are  in  the  way,"  he  resumed.  "  You  are  very 
much  in  the  way.  Colonel  Varian  was  disposed  to  like 
you,  and  so  am  I  even  now.  You  are  a  brave  man  and 
full  of  resources.  You  escaped  and  stole  away  with  the 
girl  very  cleverly.  Neither  of  us  denies  that,  and  Colo- 
nel Varian  is  disposed  to  favour  you  so  long  as  you  don't 
oppose  him.  Now,  I  want  to  make  you  a  proposition  in 
his  behalf.  I  don't  say  that  it  comes  from  him.  I 
merely  foresee  his  wishes.  I  am  under  heavy  obliga- 
tions to  him,  and  sometimes  I  serve  him  in  ways  of 
which  perhaps  he  doesn't  approve.  There  is  a  differ- 
ence between  us:  he  is  scrupulous,  and  I  am  not,  and  on 
that  account  we  make  a  strong  team.  It  was  I  who  in- 
cited Palmore  to  shoot  at  you — I  make  no  secret  of  it 
now,  why  'should  I  ? — but  what  a  wretched  blunderer  he 
was!  We  are  well  rid  of  him.  But,  in  brief,  what  I 
want  to  say  to  you  is  this:  Give  up  your  claim  on  the 
girl,  let  Varian  have  her,  and  when  you  make  an  attempt 
at  escape  at  some  convenient  place  in  a  day  or  two,  my 
men  will  fire  wildly;  their  bullets  will  go  over  your 
head,  and  our  hurry  in  reaching  Virginia  will  forbid 
further  pursuit  of  you." 

I  felt  the  hot  blood  rising  again  in  my  veins,  and  my 
brain  was  touched  with  fire. 

"  But  the  lady  is  my  wife,"  I  said,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  calmness. 

"  That  useless  ceremony  again,"  he  continued  impa- 
tiently.    "  Whatever  it  amounts  to,  it  can  be  undone 


AT  LAST  CHANCE  221 

without  trouble.  As  I  said,  it  does  not  defeat  Varian. 
Be  reasonable — you  need  to  be  so.  Even  if  she  were 
your  wife,  as  you  say,  she  can  easily  become  your  widow, 
and  then  you  will  be  much  worse  off  than  you  are  now, 
while  she  will  be  no  better.  Don't  you  see  how  com- 
pletely both  of  you  are  in  our  power?  Why  not  give  her 
up,  when  you  can  only  gain  by  it?  Besides,  if  you  let 
Yarian  have  her  you  can  say  that  you  were  first " 

I  struck  him  in  the  face  with  all  my  might,  and  he 
fell  bleeding  to  the  floor. 

"  Eepeat  such  words,"  I  said,  "  and  I  shall  strangle 
you,  even  if  your  sentinel  out  there  shoots  me  the  next 
moment!  " 

"  You  should  be  thankful  that  I  have  not  called  him 
already,"  he  replied,  giving  me  a  look  of  deep  malice 
as  he  struggled  to  his  feet.  "  I  prefer,  however,  to  do 
my  work  in  the  right  manner.  I  have  better  command 
of  myself  than  you  have  over  yourself.  I  see  that  you 
are  not  a  man  of  sense,  as  I  had  supposed.  I  was  mak- 
ing you  a  fair  proposition  that  might  have  saved  your 
life,  and  you  replied  with  violence.     Good  night." 

But  he  did  not  go  immediately.  He  wiped  the  blood 
off  his  face,  and  then  recalled  the  sentinel,  who  rebound 
my  arms  at  the  gun-muzzle. 

"  Now  you  watch  here,  Walker,  until  your  relief 
comes,"  said  Blanchard;  "  and  if  the  prisoner  tries  to 
escape,  shoot  him  at  once.     Don't  forget  this." 

I  knew  from  the  sentinel's  face  that  he  would  not 
forget  it.  Blanchard  went  out  quietly,  and  I  was  left 
to  unhappy  thoughts. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 


PRISONERS   OF   VARIAN 


We  resumed  the  eastward  journey  the  next  morn- 
ing, but  under  conditions  so  different.  Our  happy  ride 
was  over.  I  sat  upon  the  same  horse,  but  I  was  bound  to 
him,  and  a  trooper  was  on  either  side  of  me,  almost 
shoulder  to  shoulder.  Elinor  rode  just  ahead.  They 
treated  her  with  the  utmost  respect;  in  truth  I  had  not 
feared  otherwise,  but  Blanchard  refused  to  listen  to 
her  request  that  I  be  unbound. 

"  Perhaps,  as  you  claim,  lady,  he  can  not  escape,"  he 
replied;  "  but  he  did  so  once,  and  he  may  try  it  again. 
He'll  have  to  stand  it  the  best  he  can." 

But  she  showed  in  this  crisis  the  nobility  and  cour- 
age of  her  nature.  She  did  not  droop  or  entreat.  She 
was  brave  and  cheerful,  and  whenever  they  permitted 
she  rode  near  me,  speaking  of  the  time  when  we  would 
be  free  again  and  happy  together.  Had  I  been  disposed 
to  be  downcast,  my  very  pride  would  not  have  per- 
mitted me  to  be  sustained  only  by  the  strength  of  the 
one  who  would  have  been  called  the  weaker  of  the  two. 

"  You  are  only  a  prisoner,  Henry,"  she  said,  "  and 
they  have  no  right  to  treat  you  so.  The  Southern 
authorities  would  not  permit  it  if  they  knew  of  it,  and 
when  we  reach  the  East  I  shall  tell  them,  if  I  have  to 
go  to  General  Lee  himself,  who  is  the  most  humane  of 
men." 

I  had  little  in  my  treatment  to  complain  of  save 
222 


PRISONERS  OF  VARIAN  223 

the  binding  of  my  arms  and  the  inconvenience  that  it 
caused.  They  gave  me  a  fair  share  of  their  fare,  and  at 
night  I  had  as  good  shelter  as  the  others.  Nor  was 
there  any  diminution  in  the  respect  that  they  paid  Eli- 
nor. I  hoped  sometimes  for  a  rescue,  but  the  chances 
decreased  fast  as  we  began  to  descend  the  eastern  slopes 
of  the  mountains  and  enter  the  lowlands.  Villagers 
and  farmers  came  to  look  at  us  now  and  then  as  we 
passed,  but  they  said  nothing.  Blanchard  met  no  force 
sufficient  to  cope  with  his,  although  almost  the  whole  of 
the  region  through  which  we  rode  was  hostile  to  the 
South.  We  were  fired  at  once  from  a  mountain  ridge 
by  some  of  those  pleasant  gentlemen  known  as  bush- 
whackers, but  none  of  the  bullets  touched  us,  and  they 
did  not  dare  to  come  nearer.  Elinor  showed  no  fear 
when  the  rifles  cracked  and  the  bullets  whizzed  about 
our  ears,  and  Blanchard  spoke  his  admiration. 

"  Both  Colonel  Varian  and  you  show  good  taste,"  he 
said. 

I  did  not  reply. 

We  descended  into  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  a  region 
devoted  to  the  Southern  cause,  and  now  occupied,  at 
least  in  the  portion  we  entered,  by  Southern  troops. 
Blanchard  came  to  me  on  the  second  day  after  we 
reached  the  low  country,  and  said: 

"  We  shall  overtake  Colonel  Varian  to-morrow,  and 
I  shall  give  the  lady  and  you  to  him.  Both  of  you, 
doubtless,  will  be  glad  to  part  with  me,  but  not  more  so 
than  I  am  to  part  with  you.  I  do  not  care  for  com- 
missions of  this  kind,  because  I  have  been  afraid  that 
you  would  escape  again." 

I  bowed  assent,  but  I  was  surprised  and  disappointed 
to  hear  that  Varian  was  so  near.  I  had  believed  that 
we  would  be  taken  to  Bichmond,  where  I  was  confident 
that  I  could  secure  at  once  the  release  of  Elinor,  and  my 
own  too,  or,  at  least,  a  recognition  of  my  status  as  a 
mere  prisoner  of  war.     The   Southern  leaders  would 


224  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

not  tolerate  for  a  moment  such  treatment  as  we  were 
now  receiving.  But  I  should  have  known  better,  know- 
ing Varian's  boldness  so  well.  Nevertheless  I  did  not 
permit  my  face  to  show  my  feelings  to  Blanchard. 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  my  wife,"  I  said. 

He  considered  a  moment,  but  at  last  consented, 
and  then  Elinor  was  at  my  side.  I  told  her  that  we 
were  approaching  the  camp  of  Varian,  and  would  not 
go  to  Eichmond  as  we  had  hoped.  It  was  likely  that 
we  should  be  separated  there,  and  the  future  would 
not  be  pleasant  for  either  of  us,  at  least  for  a  while; 
many  things  not  true  would  be  said  to  her,  but  she 
need  fear  nobody. 

"  I  shall  never  forget,  Henry,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am 
your  wife." 

She  looked  into  my  eyes  with  so  much  courage  and 
truth  that  my  fears  for  her  diminished.  Neither  her 
aunt,  nor  Varian,  nor  circumstances  could  quench  her 
spirit.  I  felt  a  deep  sense  of  pride  because  I  held 
the  love  of  such  a  woman,  and  I  wondered  how  I  had 
ever  won  it. 

She  feared  only  for  me,  not  for  herself,  and  I  swore 
under  my  breath  that  I  would  rescue  her  yet  from  the 
hands  into  which  she  had  fallen. 

"We  reached  Varian's  camp  the  next  day.  He  and 
some  of  his  officers  were  occupying  a  large  double  brick 
house  on  a  hill,  and  the  tents  of  the  men  stood  on  the 
lawn.  The  detachment  seemed  to  number  about  five 
hundred,  all  cavalry.  As  we  approached,  Elinor  said, 
"  Good-bye  for  a  time." 

Then  she  went  away,  and  I  saw  a  woman  come  for- 
ward to  meet  her.  It  was  her  aunt,  and,  however  hos- 
tile and  revengeful  Mrs.  Maynard  might  be,  I  was  glad 
that  she  was  there,  since  Elinor  would  not  now  be  the 
only  woman  in  the  camp. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Kingsford,"  said  Blanchard,  "  that 
we  can't  give  you  quarters  in  the  house,  but  this  is 


PRISONERS  OF   VARIAN  225 

not  a  hotel,  and  you  will  have  to  put  up  with  the 
barn." 

They  imprisoned  me  in  a  small  room  that  had  been 
used  in  better  times  for  the  storage  of  shelled  corn. 
The  place  was  comfortable  enough  in  autumn  weather, 
and  I  had  no  complaints  to  make.  I  had  been  there 
several  hours,  given  up  to  lonely  thought,  when  the 
sentinel  at  the  door  presented  arms  and  admitted 
Varian. 

He  was  dressed  as  a  brigadier  general  in  the  South- 
ern service;  his  uniform  was  of  the  richest  and  freshest 
texture,  and  a  magnificent  gold-hilted  sword  hung  by 
his  side.  This  weapon,  as  he  afterward  told  me  himself, 
was  presented  to  him  by  the  ladies  of  Nashville  and 
Clarksville  for  heroic  conduct  in  the  presence  of  over- 
whelming numbers  of  the  enemy.  His  manner  was 
dignified,  and  not  expressive  of  triumph. 

"  Your  quarters  here  are  not  luxurious,  Mr.  Kings- 
ford,  but  we  give  you  the  best  that  we  have,"  he  said. 

'"  Has  a  man  a  right  to  ask  more?  "  I  replied. 

"  You  are  perhaps  surprised  to  see  me  in  Virginia 
before  you,"  he  resumed;  "  but  as  I  came  by  a  more 
direct  route,  and  in  great  haste,  I  have  been  here  sev- 
eral days  awaiting  you  and  the  woman  for  whom  we  are 
rivals.  I  never  doubted  Blanchard's  success  in  finding 
and  recapturing  you.  I  have  in  him  a  most  loyal  and 
able  friend.  He  has  told  me  of  a  proposition  that  he 
made  to  you,  and  the  reply  that  you  made  to  him.  He 
is  a  man  of  blunt  speech,  and  perhaps  has  not  that 
delicacy  of  mind  which  we  think  natural  to  a  gentle- 
man. He  went  further  than  I  would  have  had  him  go. 
Yet  I  regret  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Kingsford,  that  your  posi- 
tion is  an  exceedingly  doubtful  one,  and  we  scarcely 
know  what  to  do  with  you." 

"Why  so?"  I  asked. 

"  You  escaped  from  us,  and  instead  of  returning  to 
your  army  you  stole  a  young  woman  from  her  nearest 


226  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

relative  and  natural  guardian,  and  ran  away  with  her 
into  the  mountains.  If  we  returned  you  to  your  own 
forces  would  not  they  treat  you  as  a  deserter?  " 

I  laughed,  amused  that  he  should  seek  to  frighten 
me  with  such  a  story. 

"  Mr.  Varian,"  I  said — I  did  not  yet  call  him  gen- 
eral, although  I  saw  by  his  uniform  that  he  had  been 
promoted  to  that  rank — "  I  do  not  fear  any  such  result 
as  the  one  at  which  you  seem  to  hint,  and  why  should 
you  fear  for  me  ?  " 

"  Then  we  will  dismiss  that  phase  of  the  question," 
he  said;  "  but  as  you,  a  soldier,  were  taken  in  civilian's 
attire,  it  might  be  held  that  you  are  a  spy,  if  I  chose  to 
press  the  charge  against  you;  and  then  your  kidnap- 
ping of  Miss  Maynard  can  not  be  passed  over  even  in  a 
time  of  war." 

"  You  should  know,"  I  replied,  "  that  Miss  Maynard 
was  not  kidnapped.  She  came  with  me  of  her  own 
will." 

His  eyes  flashed  with  anger  and  the  blood  surged  to 
his  face.  I  had  touched  him  in  a  tender  spot,  and  for  a 
moment  he  showed  it,  but  he  recovered  himself  quickly, 
and  again  was  cool  and  unimpassioned. 

"  It  is  not  well  to  boast  of  one's  triumphs  with  a 
lady,"  he  said. 

"  Ask  my  wife  if  she  did  not  come  willingly,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Kingsford,"  he  continued. 
"  There  is  a  rivalry  between  us  which  must  have  a  de- 
cisive issue.  We  have  long  known  it;  we  knew  it  in 
Washington  before  the  war,  although  it  was  then  vague, 
but  it  is  now  acute.  You  have  been  triumphant  so  far 
with  Miss  Maynard.  It  is  an  old  truth  that  no  one  can 
ever  account  for  a  lady's  choice.  I  do  not  say  that  as 
any  criticism  of  you,  but  rather  in  defense  of  myself — 
but  I  think  that  fortune  is  changing.  The  cards  are 
now  in  my  hands,  and  to  be  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Kings- 


PRISONERS  OP  VARIAN  227 

ford,  I  shall  use  them.  I  have  been  accustomed  to  my 
own  way  all  my  life;  it  is  now  a  habit  with  me,  and  the 
strongest  motive  in  a  man's  life  is  the  love  of  a  woman. 
I  mean  that  she  shall  yet  he  my  wife.  I  had  planned  a 
great  career  for  her  by  my  side,  and  in  order  to  win 
her,  to  be  frank  again,  I  am  ready  to  compromise  with 
my  conscience,  if  it  is  necessary.  I  tell  you  that  she 
shall  yet  be  mine." 

He  spoke  with  the  quiet  resolution  of  a  strong  man, 
sure  of  success.  But  I  was  not  afraid.  I,  too,  was 
confident. 

"  You  forget  the  greatest  obstacle,"  I  said. 

"What  is  that?" 

"  The  will  of  the  lady.  You  forget  that  I  have  her 
love.  As  you  say,  no  one  can  account  for  the  choice  of 
a  woman,  but  I  have  it,  and  you  can  never  win  it  from 
me,  whether  I  be  alive  or  dead." 

The  threatening  flash,  quick  as  lightning,  appeared 
again  in  his  eyes,  and  his  face  reddened  to  the  brow. 

"  Let  me  remind  you  again,  Mr.  Kingsf ord,"  he  said, 
"  that  it  is  not  wise  to  boast  of  your  triumph  with  a 
lady;  but  since  you  speak  in  such  plain  terms,  so  will  I. 
If  I  can  not  win  her  with  her  consent,  I  shall  win  her 
without  it,  whether  you  be  alive  or  dead." 

I  felt  the  full  measure  of  his  threat  against  both 
Elinor  and  myself. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  as  you  are,  Mr.  Yarian,"  I 
said,  "  and  to  find  of  what  material  you  are  really  made 
beneath  your  false  covering." 

"  I  do  not  differ  from  other  men,"  he  replied,  "  al- 
though I  may  be  less  of  a  hypocrite  than  most  of  us. 
What  is  it  that  our  sex  has  not  done  for  the  love  of  a 
woman?  Have  not  the  greatest  in  history  thrown  away 
all  else  for  the  smile  of  a  round-cheeked  girl?  I  think 
that  Adam  himself  ate  of  the  apple  merely  to  please 
Eve,  and  not  because  he  wanted  it.  Shall  I  hold  my- 
self superior  to  other  men,  and  can  you  claim  that  you 


228  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

possess  an  exclusive  virtue  in  this  respect?  Women  are 
fickle,  and  a  week  from  now  you  who  feel  so  confident 
may  be  planning  as  bad  deeds  as  I." 

He  ceased  abruptly  and  left  the  room,  and  during 
the  next  two  days  I  saw  only  the  guards  and  those  who 
brought  me  food.  But  on  the  third  day  a  fresh  breeze 
blew  into  the  room  and  brought  with  it  Major  Titus 
Tyler.     He  greeted  me  with  effusiveness  and  evident 

joy- 

"  Henry  Kingsf  ord,  and  a  prisoner  again !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  It  seems  to  me  that  when  the  invincible 
Southern  army  has  nothing  else  to  do  it  occupies  itself 
with  letting  you  escape  and  recapturing  you.  Henry, 
my  son,  have  you  heard  how  gloriously  things  are  going 
here  in  the  east?  Why  didn't  you  show  common  sense 
and  join  our  side?  Didn't  you  know  that  we  would 
win?  Didn't  I  take  the  trouble  to  tell  you  so  in  Wash- 
ington, just  before  the  war  began?  You  know  how  we 
beat  McClellan  in  the  Seven  Days,  drove  him  back  with 
unparalleled  slaughter.  Stonewall  Jackson,  the  great- 
est division  commander  that  ever  honoured  the  earth  by 
riding  over  it,  has  now  surpassed  Napoleon's  Italian 
campaigns.  Pope  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  have 
been  caught  between  Lee  and  Jackson  at  Manassas,  and 
ground  to  pieces.  We  are  magnificent,  invincible,  and 
in  three  months  I  shall  be  mixing  mint  juleps  for  my 
friends  on  the  steps  of  the  Capitol  in  Washington." 

I  had  heard  of  this  bad  news,  but  the  Manassas  de- 
feat was  new  to  me.  Occupied  as  I  was  with  the  for- 
tunes of  Elinor  and  myself,  it  nevertheless  filled  me 
with  the  gloomiest  thoughts  of  my  country.  Our  gen- 
erals, at  least  in  the  east,  where  it  was  most  important, 
seemed  unable  to  cope  with  those  of  the  South;  our  fine 
armies  were  sacrificed  when  bravery  availed  nothing, 
and  the  cause  of  the  Union  was  declining.  My  feelings 
must  have  been  reflected  in  my  face  as  the  major 
clapped  his  hands  on  my  shoulders,  and  cried: 


PRISONERS  OP  VARIAN  229 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart  so  much,  Henry;  it  had  to 
be!  Did  you  think  that  anybody  could  conquer  the 
South?" 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  Elinor,  and  he  replied 
that  he  was  talking  to  her  not  an  hour  since;  indeed,  he 
had  seen  her  often  in  the  last  two  days.  Then  he 
burst  out  with  a  flowery  tribute  to  her. 

"  One  of  the  noblest  girls  that  I  ever  saw,  Henry," 
he  said.  "  Did  I  say  a  girl?  I  meant  a  magnificent 
woman.  By  God,  sir!  a  prisoner  though  you  be,  I  think 
that  you  are  to  be  envied.  They  brought  her  in  as 
much  a  captive  as  you  yourself  are,  and  gave  her  into 
the  care  of  her  aunt.  The  old  lady  began  with  re- 
proaches and  stern  looks;  she  was  afraid  that  her  niece 
had  ruined  herself  forever;  she  had  not  believed  it 
possible  that  a  member  of  the  Maynard  family  could 
have  been  guilty  of  such  conduct;  but  the  girl,  blazing 
with  wrath,  stopped  her  right  there.  She  said  that 
she  married  you,  and  she  was  proud  to  be  your  wife;  she 
had  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  nothing  that  she 
Avould  have  undone,  and  that  it  was  useless  either  to 
reproach  or  threaten  her.  If  her  aunt  objected  to  her 
hasty  marriage  with  you,  Mrs.  Maynard  herself  was 
chiefly  to  blame,  because  she  tried  to  force  her  into  a 
marriage  with  Varian.  They  say  that  she  was  magnifi- 
cent in  her  anger,  Henry,  and  would  not  allow  a  word 
against  you.  I  repeat  that  you  are  a  lucky  fellow,  pris- 
oner that  you  are,  but  how  it  will  all  end  I  don't  know." 

My  heart  swelled  with  pride  and  gratitude,  and,  pris- 
oner though  I  was,  I  agreed  with  Major  Tyler  that  I  was 
a  lucky  man. 

"  Tell  me  about  Varian,"  I  said. 

"  He  is  as  high  and  haughty  as  ever,"  replied  the 
major;  "  but  silent  and  stern.  It  was  a  heavy  blow 
that  Elinor  struck  him.  Oh,  I  know  that  he  was  wild 
with  love  of  her,  and  is  yet;  but  he  is  a  great  soldier; 
neither  you  nor  anybody  else  can  deny  it.     He  has  just 


230  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

been  made  a  brigader  general  for  distinguished  and 
valuable  services  in  the  field,  and  besides  that,  you  know 
the  influence  that  he  has  abroad,  and  we  want  friends 
in  Europe.  He  is  my  commander  and  your  enemy, 
Henry;  he  could  not  be  anything  else,  with  that  girl 
dividing  you/' 

The  major  said  that  he  could  have  only  a  half  hour 
with  me,  but  he  talked  all  the  time.  How  long  they 
would  stay  at  the  present  camp  he  did  not  know.  Vari- 
ants was  partially  an  independent  command,  and  the 
confidence  in  him  was  so  great  that  he  could  do  as  he 
chose  within  wide  limits.  Then  the  major  passed  from 
the  particular  to  the  general,  speaking  again  with  en- 
thusiasm of  the  Southern  successes  in  the  East.  He 
was  sincere  in  his  beliefs,  and  his  confidence  in  the  com- 
plete triumph  of  his  cause  was  apparent.  I  did  not  dis- 
pute the  point  with  him,  knowing  the  vanity  of  such 
attempts,  and  when  he  went  away  I  missed  him  sorely. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

ONE    WOMAN'S    WAY 

A  week  passed  and  I  could  learn  nothing  of  Vari- 
an's  intentions,  although  Major  Tyler  came  to  see  me 
often,  and  the  guards,  who  were  friendly  enough,  talked 
freely.  Blanchard  was  my  immediate  jailer,  but  he  said 
little,  merely  asking  me  once  if  I  had  any  complaint  to 
make  of  bad  treatment.  Varian  did  not  come  again, 
nor  did  Elinor.  The  major  told  me  that  she  had  asked 
the  privilege  more  than  once,  but  it  was  refused.  Her 
aunt  was  with  her  constantly  and  kept  watch  on  all  her 
movements. 

A  dark  and  rainy  day  came  at  last.  I  seemed  to  be 
unnoticed,  and  through  the  hole  in  the  logs  which 
served  as  the  window  of  my  apartment  I  saw  much 
bustle  in  the  camp.  Major  Tyler  visited  me  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon  and  chattered  after  his  usual 
lively  and  inconsequential  fashion.  He  had  been  talk- 
ing to  Varian  that  morning,  he  said,,  and  the  general 
spoke  of  moving  the  camp  in  a  few  days  to  a  fortified 
and  stronger  place. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  major,  "  he  told  me  that 
he  would  be  glad  to  make  the  change,  and  one  of  his 
reasons  was  his  ability  to  keep  a  better  guard  there 
over  you,  as  he  is  much  afraid  that  you  may  escape  from 
this  place.  He  must  think  that  you  are  a  spy,  Henry, 
and  that  they  can  get  valuable  information  out  of  you 
in  Richmond  when  they  take  you  there,  or  he  wouldn't 

231 


232  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

be  so  anxious  to  hold  you.  As  for  myself,  I'd  be  glad 
to  see  you  get  away." 

I  thanked  the  major  for  his  good  wishes,  and  pres- 
ently he  left  me.  I  was  confirmed  again,  by  his  words, 
in  my  purpose  to  escape  at  all  hazards,  and  I  saw  that 
the  attempt  must  not  be  delayed.  I  might  not  secure 
an  opportunity  elsewhere. 

I  was  left  alone  throughout  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon.  A  guard  brought  my  supper  about  dusk, 
and  when  I  had  eaten  it  I  looked  again  through  the  hole 
between  the  logs.  The  wind  was  blowing,  a  fine  rain 
was  falling,  and  the  night  was  dark.  All  the  conditions 
were  favourable,  and  I  was  thrilled  by  a  feeling  of  ex- 
ultation. I  promised  myself  that  if  I  escaped  from 
Varian  now — and  I  was  sure  that  I  would — I  should 
take  care  not  to  fall  into  his  hands  again. 

I  waited  one  hour,  two,  three,  and  more,  until  all 
the  noises  died  in  the  camp,  and  then  I  tried  the  lock. 
The  key  had  been  turned,  but  it  was  an  ordinary  plate 
lock,  screwed  on  the  inside  of  the  door,  and  I  was  confi- 
dent that  a  single  kick  of  my  boot  delivered  with  all 
my  might  would  knock  it  from  its  fastenings.  But  I 
preferred  to  wait  at  least  an  hour  longer  in  order  to 
make  sure  that  all  but  the  sentinels  would  be  asleep, 
and  I  went  back  to  my  stool,  where  I  sat  waiting  for 
the  hour  to  pass. 

And  now  a  wonderful  thing  happened,  which  I  must 
tell  in  the  language  of  the  chief  actor,  since  no  words  of 
mine  can  describe  the  depths  of  a  woman's  devotion, 
nor  her  willingness  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  those 
whom  she  loves.  I  knew  little  of  its  import  while 
this  scene  was  passing,  and  suspected  nothing  of  its 
nature.  The  truth  is  told  in  an  old  letter  written 
to  my  grandmother,  and  sent  by  her  to  me,  which 
now,  yellow  and  worn  by  many  readings  rather  than 
by  time,  lies  before  me.  I  read  it  again  for  the  thou- 
sandth time: 


ONE  WOMAN'S  WAY  233, 

"  Dearest  Grandmother:  You  insist  that  I  tell 
you  the  whole  story  of  that  terrible  night,  and,  since  you 
know  a  part,  it  is  best  now  that  you  learn  all.  I  had 
thought  to  keep  it  concealed  forever,  but  I  would 
rather  you  knew  the  truth  than  some  wild  distortion  of 
it.  Why  I  did  it  I  do  not  know,  but  I  think  it  was 
the  result  of  a  wild  impulse  and  my  fear  for  him.  In- 
deed, after  the  idea  came  to  me  I  did  not  have  a  chance 
to  think.  The  time  left  was  so  short  that  I  was  in  a 
fever.  And  then,  dearest  grandmother,  you  know  that 
he  was  my  husband,  and  I  loved  him  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  and  I  believe  that  if  you  had  been  in  my 
place  you  would  have  done  as  I  did. 

"  It  was  Major  Tyler  who  told  me  of  their  foul  and 
wicked  plan.  It  was  this  old  friend  who  did  us  a  serv- 
ice that  we  can  never  repay.  You  know  how  he  liked 
Henry,  and  still  likes  him,  although  they  were  on  oppo- 
site sides  in  that  terrible  war.  Varian  and  Blanchard 
misjudged  him — it  was  Providence  that  made  them 
commit  the  mistake — and  about  nightfall  Blanchard 
said  something  before  him  that  revealed  to  him  all  their 
plan  and  all  their  wickedness;  he  was  far  more  acute 
than  they  thought,  and  he  resolved  that  such  a  crime 
should  not  be  done,  if  he  could  help  it.  He  dared  not 
ask  leave  to  see  Henry  again,  but  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  away  from  them  he  came  to  me.  He  wanted  me  to 
go  at  once  to  Varian  and  beg  for  Henry's  life,  and  I 
promised  that  I  would  go,  although  I  did  not  intend  to 
say  what  the  good  major  wished  me  to  say,  as  I  knew 
how  vain  and  idle  such  words  would  be. 

"  I  found  Varian  in  the  parlour  of  the  house  which 
he  had  made  his  office,  writing  despatches,  and  I  told 
him  that  I  desired  to  see  Henry.  He  was  my  husband, 
I  said,  and  I  wished  to  talk  with  him  alone  for  a  little 
while.  I  asked  it  not  as  a  privilege,  but  as  my  right; 
and  I  said  that  if  I  were  treated  with  such  continued 
cruelty  I  would  appeal  to  President  Davis  himself.     I 


234  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

was  not  acting  then,  for  as  I  spoke  I  thrilled  with  indig- 
nation against  Varian  and  all  his  allies. 

"  He  looked  at  me  with  one  of  the  strangest  looks 
that  ever  I  saw  on  a  man's  face.  '  When  do  you  wish 
to  see  Mr.  Kingsford,'  he  asked;  ' to-morrow?'  'No/ 
I  replied,  '  to-night;  now! '  '  Very  well,'  he  said,  '  you 
can  see  him,  since  you  insist  upon  it,  and  alone;  but  I 
fear  that  circumstances  will  make  it  the  last  time.' 
I  shivered;  I  understood  his  meaning,  though  he  knew 
it  not,  but  his  words  and  the  hidden  threat  in  them 
only  urged  me  on.  You  know,  dearest  grandmother, 
that  with  women,  when  we  do  a  thing  it  is  not  so  much 
a  question  of  bravery,  as  men  understand  the  word 
bravery,  as  it  is  of  nervous  excitement.  And  I  knew 
of  no  other  way. 

"  General  Varian  went  with  me  to  the  door,  and 
asked  me  if  I  would  not  have  an  escort  and  a  light  to  the 
barn  where  Henry  was  imprisoned,  as  it  was  dark  and 
raining.  There  was  a  strange  tone  in  his  voice,  an  ac- 
cent as  of  sympathy  or  pity — was  it  for  Henry,  or  for 
me? — but'I  said  No;  I  was  not  city  bred,  and  I  did  not 
mind  a  little  rain,  nor  did  I  fear  the  darkness.  I  was 
not  in  a  mood,  I  added,  for  any  company  save  that 
of  my  husband,  whom  I  had  not  seen  in  many  days.  He 
bowed  his  assent — his  manner  was  most  gentle;  I  am 
not  able,  grandmother,  to  read  the  motives  of  men, 
they  seem  so  strange  to  me — and  then  I  walked  toward 
the  barn.  I  saw  him  still  standing  in  the  doorway, 
the  lantern  that  he  had  offered  me  held  motionless  in 
his  hand,  and  his  eyes  following  me.  But  I  shuddered 
to  see  him  watching  me  so,  and  I  was  glad  when  the 
path  led  around  the  shrubbery  on  the  lawn  and  hid 
me  from  him. 

"  The  wind  was  blowing,  and  I  could  hear  it  moan- 
ing among  the  hills  like  a  human  voice;  it  dashed  the 
rain  in  my  face,  but  the  cool,  wet  touch  strengthened 
me,  without  taking  from  me  any  of  the  fever  in  my 


ONE  WOMAN'S  WAY  235 

veins  that  carried  me  on.  I  can  forget  no  event  of 
that  terrible  night.  It  was  very  dark;  the  barn  itself 
was  only  a  shapeless  black  mass  in  the  darkness,  but, 
knowing  what  they  had  prepared,  my  imagination  gave 
me  new  eyes.  I  was  sure  that  I  saw  Blanchard  himself 
standing  behind  a  rosebush,  with  his  rifle  in  his  hands. 
Henry  had  struck  him  down  once  for  good  cause,  and 
Blanchard,  who,  I  think,  disliked  everybody,  unless 
Varian  was  an  exception,  hated  most  of  all  the  man 
who  gave  him  the  blow. 

"  I  was  stopped  near  the  barn  by  a  sentinel  with  a 
lantern,  but  I  showed  him  the  order  from  Varian,  and 
he  went  with  me  to  the  door,  which  he  unlocked  him- 
self. While  I  was  standing  there,  waiting  to  enter,  I 
became  weak  from  excitement  and  nervousness,  but  it 
was  only  momentary.  I  said  to  myself  again  that  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do.  I  knew  that  Henry  would  at- 
tempt to  escape  that  night,  and  the  good  major,  prompt- 
ed by  Varian,  and  not  dreaming  in  his  innocence  that 
he  was  used  for  such  a  purpose,  had  suggested  it,  and 
the  night  itself  invited  it.  The  lock  on  the  door  could 
be.  broken  easily,  and  Henry  would  take  flight  by  the 
way  that  seemed  most  obvious,  the  way  that  they  wished 
him  to  take,  across  the  unoccupied  space  east  of  the 
barn  and  toward  the  hills,  which  on  that  side  were  less 
than  half  a  mile  away.  You  may  ask  me  why  I  would 
not  tell  Henry  to  stay,  and  not  to  make  the  attempt,  but 
I  knew  that  after  such  a  failure  they  would  not  spare 
him.  I  could  save  him  only  for  the  moment  by  such 
advice,  and  I  clung  to  the  way  that  I  had  chosen.  You 
who  are  a  woman  yourself  know  how  tenacious  of  our 
purpose  we  can  be,  weak  as  we  seem. 

"  The  guard  opened  the  door,  and  after  he  shut  it 
behind  me  when  I  entered  I  heard  his  retreating  foot- 
steps on  the  turf.  There  was  a  dim  candle  burning  on 
the  table,  and  Henry  was  sitting  on  a  stool  in  the  corner. 
He  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  surprise  and  delight,  and 
16 


236  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  next  moment  I  was  clasped  in  his  arms.  How  we 
women  like  to  have  some  one  stronger  than  ourselves  to 
love  and  protect  us! 

"  He  asked  me  many  questions:  how  I  had  been  able 
to  visit  him,  what  was  the  news  in  the  camp,  what  were 
my  own  plans,  and  I  answered  them  all  in  the  best  way 
that  I  could.  I  know  that  my  manner  was  excited  and 
nervous,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  Then  he 
told  me  that  he  intended  to  escape  that  night;  that  he 
had  tried  the  lock  on  the  door,  and  he  could  break  it; 
he  was  confident  of  escaping  through  the  camp  in  the 
darkness  and  the  rain,  and  while  it  was  not  likely 
that  he  could  reach  Northern  territory,  he  was  willing 
to  surrender  to  some  other  Southern  force,  where  he 
would  not  be  the  victim  of  a  private  revenge.  He  would 
secure  an  exchange,  and  then  send  for  me;  he  knew 
that  I  would  keep  a  brave  heart,  he  said,  and  he  would 
claim  his  wife,  if  he  had  to  come  to  Eichmond  itself 
to  get  me. 

"  He  asked  me,  too,  if  the  sentinels  outside  seemed 
to  be  vigilant;  and  when  I  replied  No,  he  said  he  would 
break  from  the  barn  within  a  half  hour  of  my  de- 
parture. Did  I  not  think  the  opportunity  was  good? 
and  I  replied  faintly,  Yes.  He  said  that  he  had  already 
chosen  his  course;  it  was  easy  to  do  so,  as  it  lay  straight 
before  him;  he  would  run  for  the  hills,  which  he  could 
reach  in  a  few  minutes,  and  once  there  he  would  have 
no  fear  of  recapture  by  Varian's  men. 

" '  You  must  not  go  that  way/  I  said,  and  I  said  it 
with  such  eagerness  that  he  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 
'  It  is  the  most  dangerous  road/  I  continued  with  ex- 
cited emphasis.  '  Some  Northern  skirmishers  were 
seen  on  those  hills  to-day;  they  are  supposed  to  be 
there  even  now,  and  Varian's  men  are  watching  espe- 
cially on  that  side  for  them.'  He  seemed  to  be  both 
pleased  and  convinced,  and  he  replied:  '  It  is  good  news 
that  you  tell  me;  if  those   sharpshooters  would  only 


ONE  WOMAN'S  WAY  237 

make  an  attack  now,  it  would  be  much  easier  for  me 
to  escape  while  the  firing  is  going  on.'  And  that  put  a 
thought  in  my  head.  '  Oh,  yes/  I  said,  '  it  may  occur 
at  any  moment,  and  if  you  hear  it,  break  open  the  door 
and  run.  Be  sure  to  go  to  the  west,  even  if  you  have 
to  dash  among  the  soldiers'  tents  to  follow  that  course. 
Now,  I  am  only  a  woman,  Henry,  and  not  a  military 
genius,  but  I  know  I  am  right,  and  promise  me 
that  you  will  do  as  I  .ask  you.'  I  smiled  at  him,  al- 
though I  knew  it  was  but  the  shadow  of  a  smile.  He 
put  his  arms  around  me  and  kissed  me  again,  and  said 
he  would  do  just  as  I  asked,  and  that  I  was  the  wisest 
and  truest  woman  in  the  world.  Then  he  took  my 
hands  in  his,  and  looking  into  my  eyes,  said:  i  I  do 
not  know  how  I  ever  won  you,  but  I  have  won  you, 
and  that  is  enough.'  Then  I  said  that  I  must  go.  '  I 
want  a  promise,  too,'  he  said,  '  and  it  is  that  you 
keep  inside  the  brick  walls  if  there  should  be  any 
firing.'  I  replied  that  I  would  do  so,  a  promise  for 
which  I  do  not  need  to  ask  any  forgiveness,  and  then 
I  walked  toward  the  door.  But  he  stopped  me  and 
kissed  me  again.  I  was  trembling  all  over,  but  he  did 
not  know  why. 

"  '  For  the  last  time,'  he  said. 

" '  For  the  last  time,'  I  repeated,  but  with  another 
meaning. 

"  '  You  are  protected  against  the  rain?  '  he  asked. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  replied,  '  see  my  coat!  one  could  take  me 
for  a  soldier.' 

"  I  had  wrapped  a  great  army  overcoat  of  rubber 
around  me,  and  I  drew  the  cape  of  it  over  my  head  after 
the  fashion  of  a  cavalryman  in  rainy  weather.  '  Could 
I  not  pass  for  a  soldier? '  I  asked,  walking  across  the 
room  with  quite  a  military  swagger. 

" '  Yes,  if  you  were  not  so  handsome,'  he  said — I 
merely  give  his  own  words;  then  he  kissed  me  once 
more. 


238  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  '  This  is  really  for  the  last  time/  he  said. 

" '  This  is  really  for  the  last  time/  I  repeated. 

"  I  was  upborne  now  by  a  great  exaltation.  The 
time  for  doubts  had  passed  and  the  supreme  moment 
was  at  hand.  i  Don't  forget/  I  repeated,  '  that  if  you 
hear  the  shots  of  the  skirmishers  the  time  for  your 
flight  has  come.'  He  replied  that  he  was  not  in  the 
slightest  danger  of  forgetting  such  an  important  sound, 
and  then  I  knocked  on  the  door.  The  guard  opened  it, 
and  when  I  stepped  out,  quickly  closed  it  again 
behind  me.  He  raised  his  lantern,  looked  at  me,  and 
then,  laughing  slightly,  said: 

"  '  If  you  had  been  a  little  larger  I  would  have  taken 
you  for  a  trooper.  As  it  was,  I  had  to  look  at  you  close, 
lady.  I've  heard  tales  about  men  slipping  out  of  prison 
in  their  wives'  clothes  and  the  guards  all  the  time 
thinking  they  were  women.' 

" '  But  you  see  that  I  am  not  Mr.  Kingsf ord,  do 
you  not?'  I  asked,  echoing  his  laugh  with  one  of 
my  own. 

"  He  offered  to  escort  me  back  to  the  house,  but  I 
asked  him  if  he  would  not  let  me  carry  the  lantern. 
He  demurred,  but  I  insisted,  giving  various  reasons  at 
length,  and  flattering  him  too — you  know  that  the 
American  soldier  is  conquered  easily  only  by  a  woman. 
When  I  appealed  to  his  gallantry  he  handed  me  the 
lantern.  I  wanted  to  achieve  time  with  all  this  talk,  in 
order  that  Henry  might  think  me  back  in  the  house  be- 
fore anything  happened. 

"  We  walked  a  few  steps  side  by  side,  approach- 
ing the  point  where  we  would  come  into  the  view 
of  the  others,  and  then  raising  the  lantern  I  dashed 
it  into  his  face  with  all  my  might.  I  am  not  a  weak 
woman,  you  know,  and  it  was  a  cruel  blow  to  one  who 
had  treated  me  kindly,  but  I  was  thinking  of  Henry 
just  then.  He  uttered  a  loud,  terrible  cry,  and  fell 
stunned  to  the  earth.     I  threw  away  the   fragments 


ONE  WOMAN'S  WAY  239 

of  the  lantern  and  instantly  ran  across  the  open  space 
on  the  eastern  side  of  the  house  and  toward  the 
hills,  drawing  my  rubber  coat  closely  around  me  as 
I  ran. 

"I  fear  that  I  could  never  have  the  spirit  and 
courage  to  be  a  soldier,  even  if  I  were  a  man,  and  I  am 
truly  thankful  that  I  am  not  one.  My  feverish  nervous- 
ness and  excitement  became  in  those  awful  moments 
sheer  terror,  and  I  think  that  I  must  have  run  as  a 
woman  never  ran  before.  Some  one  fired  at  me  from 
the  shelter  of  a  bush  before  I  had  taken  a  dozen  steps. 
I  think  that  it  was  Blanchard  himself,  eager  as  he 
would  be  for  the  first  shot.  The  bullet  passed  by  my 
face.  I  felt  the  rush  of  the  wind  and  heard  the  awful 
whistling  sound  that  it  made,  and  in  my  fright  I  scarce- 
ly felt  the  earth  beneath  my  feet  as  I  ran.  More  shots 
were  fired — I  do  not  know  how  many,  but  they  seemed 
innumerable  to  me — and  the  bullets  whistled  all  around 
me.  I  wondered  why  I  was  not  wounded  or  killed,  but 
I  did  not  feel  any*  bullet  strike  me.  Then  I  remem- 
bered that  soldiers  were  often  shot  mortally  in  battle 
and  were  unconscious  of  it  at  the  moment,  and  I  ran 
with  all  the  strength  that  I  could  summon  in  order 
that  I  might  carry  out  the  plan  which  I  had  under- 
taken. 

"  They  continued  to  fire  at  me,  and  they  raised,  too, 
a  shout  that  the  prisoner  was  escaping.  I  saw  many 
lights  flashing,  the  lights  of  lanterns,  and  of  exploding 
gunpowder.  I  knew  that  Henry  was  a  man  of  decision 
and  undaunted  courage,  and  I  believed  him  now  to  be 
out  of  the  barn  and  escaping  in  the  other  direction, 
while  all  the  soldiers  ran  after  me,  sure  that  I  was  the 
prisoner.  The  belief  gave  me  courage  and  hope,  nor 
did  I  feel  any  weakness  coming  from  a  wound.  I  was 
sure  now  that  I  had  not  been  hit,  and  then  suddenly  the 
love  of  life  flamed  up  in  me.  I  do  not  know  why  all  of 
them  missed  me.     Perhaps  it  was  the  haste,  the  con- 


240  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

fusion,  and  a  darkness  that  exceeded  the  calculations  of 
Blanchard  and  Varian. 

"  I  was  more  than  half-way  to  the  hills,  and  I  felt 
that  I  had  passed  the  worst  of  that  fearful  gantlet. 
The  hills  were  before  me,  a  black  and  indistinct  but 
welcome  mass,  and  oh,  how  I  longed  to  reach  them! 
Henry  himself  would  find  me  there  and  rescue  me. 
They  could  have  overtaken  me  if  it  had  been  daylight, 
but  they  became  confused  in  the  darkness,  they  mistook 
each  other  for  me,  and  ceased  to  fire  much,  for  fear  of 
shooting  their  comrades. 

"  I  ran  into  some  bushes,  and  now  I  believed  that  I 
had  escaped.  They  could  scarcely  find  me  in  the  woods 
and  hills  on  such  a  dark  night;  but  I  had  underrated 
the  cunning  of  Blanchard  and  Varian.  Upon  some 
pretext  or  other  they  had  placed  two  men  in  the  bushes 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill  to  shoot  down  Henry  should  he 
escape  the  rest;  and  when  they  heard  me  running,  and 
the  cries  of  the  others  that  a  prisoner  was  escaping,  one 
of  these  men  rose  up  before  me.        • 

"  He  lifted  his  rifle  and  aimed  directly  at  my  head. 
I  saw  his  finger  on  the  trigger,  and  I  stopped  quite 
still,  unable  to  move  from  terror.  I  should  have  been 
killed  then,  grandmother,  but  at  the  last  moment  I  re- 
membered. It  was  an  American  soldier  before  me,  and 
suddenly  I  threw  the  rubber  coat  off  my  head,  and  stood 
there  gazing  at  him.  He  was  not  ten  feet  from  me, 
and  as  he  was  looking  along  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  into 
my  face  he  knew  me  for  what  I  was,  a  woman.  He 
uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  and  instantly  dropped  the  bar- 
rel of  his  gun.  'Was  I  about  to  kill  a  woman!'  he 
exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  horror.  I  sprang  aside  and  ran 
on  among  the  bushes.  I  did  not  hear  him  follow- 
ing me. 

"  I  reached  the  hills  quickly  now,  but  I  continued 
to  run  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  soon  I  heard  nothing 
save  the  sound  of  my  own  footsteps.     But  I  went  on, 


ONE   WOMAN'S  WAY  241 

for  how  long  I  know  not,  nor  in  what  direction,  but 
at  last  I  heard  a  noise  as  of  some  one  approaching.  I 
was  weak  and  staggering  now,  and  I  turned  aside 
to  escape.  I  ran  almost  against  a  man,  and  looking 
up,  I  saw  with  a  joy  I  can  never  describe  that  it  was 
Henry.     Then  I  fell  in  his  arms  in  a  faint. 

"  Elinoe." 


CHAPTEK   XXIX 

WITH   FKIENDLY   FOES 

"When  I  heard  the  shots  fired  at  Elinor,  as  she  has 
told  in  her  letter  to  Madam  Arlington,  although  I  never 
dreamed  that  she  was  the  target,  putting  herself  in  the 
place  intended  for  me  that  my  life  might  be  saved,  I 
knew  that  the  time  for  me  to  escape,  if  I  would  escape 
at  all,  had  come.  I  had  not  expected  the  skirmishers 
so  soon,  but  it  was  opportune,  and  I  believed  Elinor 
to  be  safe  in  the  brick  house. 

I  kicked  the  lock  so  hard  that  it  flew  from  its  fasten- 
ings and  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Then  I  ran  out 
and  I  saw  the  flash  of  the  firing  toward  the  hills  where 
Elinor  had  told  me  the  Northern  skirmishers  lay.  I 
heard,  too,  the  crack  of  the  rifles  and  shots  of  men.  It 
was  quite  a  lively  skirmish,  I  said  to  myself,  and  the  hot- 
ter the  better  for  me.  Varian's  men  would  be  too  well 
occupied  to  pursue  a  single  escaping  prisoner. 

I  ran  toward  the  west,  dodging  here  and  there 
among  the  tents,  and  in  five  minutes  I  was  out  of  sight 
and  hearing,  having  made  my  escape  with  an  ease  that 
astonished  me. 

I  waited  in  the  woods  about  an  hour,  and  hearing 
and  seeing  nothing,  I  made  a  wide  curve  to  the  east- 
ward, intending  to  find  the  Northern  skirmishers  if  I 
could  and  join  them;  but  I  searched  the  woods,  natu- 
rally without  discovering  any  trace  of  men  who  did  not 
exist.  It  was  while  I  was  seeking  thus  that  I  heard  a 
242 


WITH  FRIENDLY  FOES  243 

light  footste]).  I  stepped  behind  a  tree,  and  was  soon 
able  to  tell  by  the  sound  that  only  a  single  person 
was  approaching.  I  waited,  hoping  it  to  be  one  of  the 
sharpshooters  for  whom  I  was  looking,  and  my  amaze- 
ment was  unbounded  when  I  saw  that  it  was  Elinor.  I 
ran  forward  to  meet  her,  and  she  fell  fainting  in  my 
arms,  as  she  has  told. 

She  soon  revived,  though  for  a  long  time  she  was 
weak  and  trembling.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe 
this  reunion  under  such  strange  circumstances,  nor 
what  we  said  to  each  other,  since  there  are  words  too 
sacred  to  be  related  to  others,  but  I  was  surprised  at 
the  state  bordering  upon  hysteria  into  which  she  seemed 
to  have  fallen.  It  was  not  thus  that  I  had  known 
Elinor;  she  had  been  always  of  the  bravest;  her  spirit 
was  akin  to  that  of  Madam  Arlington,  and  usually  she 
was  firmest  when  the  most  danger  threatened;  but  now 
she  trembled,  and  clung  to  me  as  a  frightened  child 
clings  to  its  father. 

"  I  know  it  is  very  foolish  and  weak  of  me,  Henry," 
she  said;  "  but  I  was  at  the  door  of  the  house  when  the 
skirmishers  began  to  fire,  and  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
me  then  to  escape  too.  Oh,  you  do  not  know  how  that 
man  Yarian  frightens  me!  " 

"  It  was  a  most  happy  thought,"  I  said,  "  now  that 
we  have  met,  and  I  shall  take  care  that  neither  of  us 
falls  into  Varian's  power  again." 

We  walked  slowly  through  the  woods,  she  supported 
upon  my  arm  until  her  strength  came  back  presently. 
Then  we  talked  a  little  about  our  future  course.  I  still 
believed  in  the  existence  of  the  Northern  skirmishers, 
Elinor  not  having  told  me  better,  but  as  I  saw  no  sign 
of  them  I  concluded  that  they  had  made  a  hasty  flight 
from  dangerous  territory.  I  had  no  hope  now  of  escap- 
ing to  the  Northern  lines,  as  we  were  well  within  the 
region  held  by  the  South,  and  I  wished  to  find  some 
Southern  officer,  independent  of  Varian's  command,  to 


244  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

whom  I  could  surrender  Elinor  and  myself.  Elinor 
agreed  with  me  that  this  plan  was  best,  and,  keeping  it 
in  mind,  we  walked  on  until  daylight.  The  rain  ceased, 
fortunately,  before  dawn,  and  when  the  sunlight  came 
at  last  our  clothing  soon  dried.  I  found  a  farmhouse, 
and  knocking  boldly  at  the  door,  requested  food  for 
a  lady  and  myself.  I  was  prepared  for  the  surprise 
of  its  inmates,  and  explained  at  once  that  I  was  an  es- 
caped prisoner  wishing  to  surrender  to  a  Confederate 
commander.  Then  I  asked  if  they  could  refer  me  to 
any  Southern  posts  in  the  vicinity. 

They  received  us  with  courtesy.  We  experienced  in 
all  our  wanderings  only  sympathy  and  consideration 
from  the  country  people  whom  we  met,  no  matter  what 
their  position  in  regard  to  the  war.  A  number  of  Con- 
federate posts  were  in  the  neighbourhood,  they  told  us, 
when  we  had  eaten  the  food  that  they  set  before  us. 
General  Varian  with  a  considerable  detachment  was 
eight  or  ten  miles  farther  back;  if  we  turned  southward 
we  would  find,  about  ten  miles  distant,  a  second  force 
under  Colonel  Burton;  but  if  we  continued  straight 
ahead  we  would  overtake  a  small  body  of  Virginians 
under  Captain  Pembroke. 

"  Who ?"  I  asked  with  eagerness. 

"  Captain  Charles  Pembroke,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  we  shall  surrender  to  him,"  I  said,  and  the 
look  of  relief  on  Elinor's  face  was  answered,  I  know,  by 
a  similar  look  on  mine.  Pembroke  was  a  native  of  the 
Valley  of  Virginia,  and  it  was  the  best  of  fortune  that 
he  should  be  stationed  so  near  his  home.  When  we 
were  ready  to  start,  the  farmer  approached  with  a  horse 
saddled  and  bridled. 

"  The  lady  looks  faint  and  ill,"  he  said,  "  and  she 
shall  ride.  This  is  my  wife's  horse  and  saddle,  and  they 
are  at  her  service." 

I  could  not  decline  the  offer,  as  Elinor,  even  after 
the  rest  and  food,  was  scarcely  strong  enough  to  walk, 


WITH  FRIENDLY  FOES  245 

and  I  had,  moreover,  fear  of  pursuit.  So  I  accepted  it 
with  thanks,  meaning  to  see  that  he  secured  his  horse 
again. 

"  You  said  straight  to  the  eastward,  did  you  not?  " 
I  asked. 

"  I'll  guide  you,"  he  replied,  and  he  walked  on 
before.  I  knew  Elinor's  face  was  again  the  potent 
charm  to  secure  us  help  when  we  needed  it  most.  We 
reached  Pembroke's  post  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  merely 
a  village  of  tents  in  an  open  field,  and  the  sentinels,  in 
accordance  with  my  request,  notified  their  captain  at 
once  that  a  man  and  woman  wished  to  surrender  to  him. 
Pembroke  came  out  of  his  tent,  the  same  smart,  trim 
youngster  that  I  had  known  in  Washington,  but  now 
much  browner,  and  I  do  not  think  I  can  ever  forget  the 
look  of  intense  surprise  upon  his  face  when  he  saw  us. 
I  was  inclined  to  laugh  at  his  perplexity,  despite  our 
precarious  position. 

"  Is  it  really  you,  Miss  Maynard?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  it  is  not  Miss  Maynard,  but  Mrs.  Henry  Kings- 
ford,  if  you  please,"  she  replied  brightly.  "  Permit  me 
to  introduce  to  you  my  husband,  an  old  acquaintance  of 
yours." 

He  stared  at  us  in  increasing  surprise  and  per- 
plexity.    Then  he  laughed. 

"  It's  as  you  say,  of  course,  Mrs.  Kingsford,"  he  re- 
plied; "  but  you  two  certainly  have  the  most  original 
style  of  wedding  trip  that  I've  ever  known." 

Poor  old  Pembroke!  I  knew  what  he  concealed 
under  that  laugh  and  jest.  I  added  quickly  that  we 
surrendered  to  him,  and  our  fate  was  in  his  hands. 

"  Then  you  are  my  guests  for  the  present,"  he  said. 
"  Chance  does  not  often  send  me  such  welcome  friends, 
and  I  shall  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  I  shall 
abandon  my  tent  at  once  to  Mrs.  Kingsford.  As  I  am 
commander,  I  took  the  best,  of  course." 

I  told  him  that  Elinor  would  most  appreciate  just 


246  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

now,  the  companionship  of  her  own  sex,  and  was  there 
any  woman  present? 

"  Only  one/'  he  replied,  and  he  called  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Mary  Ann!  "  "  Mary  Ann  is  the  cook,"  he  said. 
Mary  Ann,  a  gigantic  coloured  woman,  appeared,  and 
with  one  cry  of  "  Bless  my  soul,  honey! "  she  took 
Elinor  in  her  arms  and  carried  her  into  the  tent.  I 
had  no  further  fears  for  my  wife,  and  I  went  with  Pem- 
broke. He  led  the  way  to  another  tent,  where  I  fresh- 
ened myself  a  little,  and  made  some  improvements  in 
my  toilet.  Pembroke  with  great  delicacy  refrained 
from  asking  any  questions,  although  I  saw  that  he  was 
burning  with  curiosity. 

The  morning  was  brisk,  cool  white  frost  appearing 
on  the  hillsides.  The  camp  fires  invited,  and  I  said, 
indicating  the  nearest,  "  Shall  we  sit  there?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  built  of  rails  from  my 
father's  farm,  and  we  are  entitled  at  least  to  a  part  of 
its  warmth." 

He  ordered  camp  stools,  and  then  I  related  our 
whole  story,  as  I  knew  it — for  Elinor's  part  was  yet 
hidden  from  me — omitting  nothing,  and  telling  him 
why  I  was  so  anxious  that  we  escape  from  Varian's 
hands.  He  listened  with  the  deepest  interest  and  at- 
tention. 

"  I  think  you  were  wise  in  coming  to  see  me,"  he 
said,  when  I  concluded.  "  Varian  is  evidently  wild 
over  the  loss  of  Elinor.  Perhaps  there  are  some  who 
can  understand  his  feelings.  I  have  to  hold  you,  of 
course,  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  but  I  shall  despatch  you  at 
once  to  Eichmond,  where  you  can  secure  a  speedy  ex- 
change, and  where,  at  any  rate,  you  will  be  out  of 
Varian's  power.  I  can  send  Elinor  at  the  same  time  to 
my  mother  and  sister  in  Richmond.  The  women  folks 
of  our  family  could  not  remain  in  this  war-trodden 
region,  and  they  have  gone  there  to  stay  until  better 
times  come,  as  come  they  must." 


WITH  FRIENDLY  FOES  247 

There  was  a  sad  smile  on  his  handsome  face.  I 
said  again  to  myself,  "  Poor  Pembroke!  "  and  I  trusted 
that  he  would  recover  in  time  from  his  own  secret  blow, 
although  he  had  been  from  the  first  without  hope.  I 
knew,  too,  that  I  would  never  find  a  truer  or  more 
gallant  friend,  and  already  my  faith  in  him  had  proved 
the  fine  metal  of  which  he  was  made. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

WITHIN   OLD   LIBBY'S   WALLS 

Pembeoke  sent  us  at  once  under  escort  to  Rich- 
mond, and  we  arrived  in  the  Southern  capital,  then 
flushed  with  great  successes  and  greater  hopes.  The 
battle  of  Antietam,  as  bloody  as  Shiloh,  and  fought  not 
long  before  our  arrival,  had  proved  a  temporary  check 
for  the  South,  but  the  people  of  Richmond  were  dis- 
posed to  make  light  of  it.  "  McClellan's  army  out- 
numbered Lee's  two  or  three  to  one/'  they  would  say, 
"  and  even  then  it  was  a  draw.  The  North  can  never 
conquer  us,  though  it  borrows  men  from  all  the  world." 

We  made  the  last  stages  of  our  journey  to  Richmond 
by  rail,  and  it  was  twilight  when  we  passed  through 
the  fortifications  that  surrounded  the  capital  of  the 
Confederacy.  I  looked  with  eager  interest  at  this  little 
city,  to  win  which  we  had  shed  so  much  blood  already — 
and  in  vain — but,  being  a  prisoner  and  not  a  tourist,  I 
saw  little  of  it.  I  saw,  however,  two  sweet-faced  wom- 
en, one  middle-aged  and  the  other  young,  come  forward 
to  meet  Elinor,  and  I  knew  by  the  resemblance  that 
they  were  the  mother  and  sister  of  Pembroke.  Elinor 
was  permitted  to  say  good-bye  to  me,  and  then  I  was 
taken  to  Libby  Prison,  where  I  found  a  numerous  and 
goodly  company.  Yet  I  went  with  a  willing  mind,  feel- 
ing at  ease  about  Elinor,  and  rejoicing  in  my  soul  over 
the  double  defeat  of  Varian.  I  was  in  the  prison  a 
week  without  word  from  anybody,  but  at  the  end  of 
248 


WITHIN  OLD  LIBBY'S  WALLS  249 

that  time  Mary  Pembroke  came  with  a  message  that 
Elinor  was  well  and  happy,  and  sent  her  dearest  love, 
and  bade  me  be  of  good  cheer,  as  I  had  powerful  friends 
who  would  see  that  I  came  to  no  harm. 

"  She  could  not  get  permission  to  enter  the  prison," 
said  Miss  Pembroke,  "  but  I  was  allowed  to  come  in  her 
place  because  of  the  services  of  my  family  to  the  cause. 
Charles  himself  will  be  here  next  week,  and  we  shall  try 
to  get  you  exchanged." 

Miss  Pembroke  was  a  handsome,  fair  girl  of  twenty, 
bearing  a  marked  resemblance  to  her  brother.  I  dis- 
covered, too,  in  our  quarter  of  an  hour  together,  that 
she  was  of  a  romantic  temperament,  and  Elinor's  story 
appealed  to  her  most  strongly.  My  wife  was  installed 
already  in  the  hearts  of  her  mother  and  herself,  and 
they  intended  to  keep  her  in  their  home  until  the 
Southern  armies  entered  Washington  and  dictated  a 
peace. 

"  For  you  know  we  are  going  to  do  it,"  said  Miss 
Pembroke,  defiantly. 

"  If  it  was  always  the  spirit  of  the  Southern  women 
that  led  the  way  you  would,"  I  replied. 

This  was  not  wholly  a  compliment  or  a  jest,  as 
everybody  knows  it  was  the  Southern  women  who  were 
the  last  to  give  up,  and  the  men  themselves  were  long 
enough  about  it.  In  truth,  I  do  not  know  that  many  of 
the  former  have  given  up  yet. 

"  Elinor  herself  hopes  soon  for  permission  to  see 
you,"  said  Miss  Pembroke.  "  We  live  in  Grace  Street, 
not  far  from  the  White  House  of  the  Confederacy,  and 
President  Davis  dined  with  us  two  days  ago.  Elinor 
did  not  wish  to  be  present,  but  mother  said  she  must, 
and  she  yielded.  I  loaned  her  one  of  my  dresses,  and  it 
shows  how  self-sacrificing  I  am,  Mr.  Kingsford,  as  she 
so  outshone  me  that  I  felt  quite  subdued  and  small.  I 
don't  think  that  Mr.  Davis  caught  her  name  when  she 
was  introduced,  as  he  said  by  and  bye,  '  I  shall  not  let 


250  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

it  be  known  that  we  have  such  beauty  in  Kichmond,  as 
it  may  tempt  some  gallant  young  officers  from  the  front, 
although  I  know  that  nothing  else  can/ 

" '  You  may  tell  any  one  who  feels  inclined  to 
come/  replied  Elinor,  pertly,  '  that  I  have  a  husband  at 
least  six  feet  tall.'  '  A  husband/  said  Mr.  Davis,  in 
great  surprise;  'and  pray  where  is  he,  madam?'  '  In 
Libby  Prison/  she  replied.  '  He  is  a  Northern  soldier.' 
Mr.  Davis  hum-hummed  a  half  dozen  times,  and  then 
he  said,  '  That's  bad ';  but  his  face  brightened,  and 
he  added:  '  No,  it's  good;  you  can  convert  him  into  a 
true  Southerner;  I  should  think,  madam,  you  have  only 
to  ask ';  and  then  he  looked  his  admiration  so  plainly 
that  Elinor  blushed,  but  she  was  not  angry,  for  I  would 
have  you  to  know  that  she  is  a  woman  just  like 
the  rest  of  us.  They  did  not  talk  any  more  about  you, 
Mr.  Kingsford,  but  mother  says  that  the  most  influ- 
ential friend  that  you  have  is  your  own  wife." 

It  was  another  week  before  I  heard  from  any  of  my 
old  friends,  although  I  was  making  new  ones  within  the 
walls  of  old  Libby,  Northern  soldiers  imprisoned  there 
like  myself.  Then  a  guard  told  me  that  three  Southern 
officers  wished  to  see  me,  and  I  was  taken  forward  under 
escort  to  meet  them.  They  were  Pembroke,  De  Cour- 
celles,  and  Tourville,  and  it  was  a  joyous  meeting.  De 
Courcelles,  in  his  French  effusiveness,  almost  embraced 
me,  and  then  he  called  my  attention  to  his  fine  Con- 
federate uniform. 

"  I  could  not  resist,"  he  said.  "  I  did  not  come  to 
this  country  to  fight.  Sacre  nom  de  guerre,  non!  It 
was  none  of  my  business.  I  was  to  be  a  diplomat.  A 
wise  man  never  meddles  in  the  affairs  of  a  land  other 
than  his  own,  but  I  saw  this  uniform,  I  put  it  on,  it 
fitted  so  boautifully,  I  looked  so  well  in  it  that  I  became 
full  of  warlike  ardour,  my  veins  burned  with  fire;  I  saw 
myself  leading  the  charging  squadrons,  un  grand  Napo- 
leon.    I  hastened  to  the  Confederate  authorities.    '  You 


WITHIN  OLD  LIBBY'S  WALLS  251 

have  a  chance  to  get  one  great  soldier;  take  me  quick, 
before  I  join  the  Northern  army/  I  said,  and  they  took 
me  quick.  So  behold  me  the  faithful  and  devoted  sol- 
dier of  the  Southern  States  of  America,  whose  quarrel 
is  no  business  of  mine." 

"  And  a  good  soldier  he  has  made,"  said  Pem- 
broke. "  He  has  been  promoted  twice  for  gallantry 
in  action." 

"  It  was  the  splendid  uniform,  not  I!  "  cried  De 
Courcelles.     "  Sacre  nom  de  guerre,  non !  " 

Tourville's  greeting  was  as  warm  as  ever,  but  he  was 
much  more  quiet  than  in  the  old  days  before  the  war. 
I  looked  at  him  with  curiosity  to  see  the  reason  of  this 
great  change,  and  Pembroke's  eyes  followed  mine.  He 
laughed  and  then  said: 

"  It's  true,  it's  the  same  old  Tourville,  but  he's 
changed.  A  lot  of  that  hot  South  Carolina  blood  was 
let  out  of  him  on  the  field  of  Seven  Pines,  where  an 
inconsiderate  bullet  passed  through  his  shoulder. — Isn't 
it  so,  Tourville?  " 

"  It's  true,  of  course,"  replied  Tourville,  and  he 
smiled.  "  We  are  not  going  to  give  you  fellows,  Kings- 
ford,  your  beating  as  soon  as  you  deserve,  but  we  are 
going  to  do  it  nevertheless." 

"  Thanks  for  the  present,"  I  said,  "  but  after  we 
shall  have  been  properly  punished  and  the  Confederacy 
duly  formed,  what  is  going  to  happen  to  it  should 
South  Carolina  become  dissatisfied  with  her  condi- 
tion? " 

"  Do  you  know,  Henry,"  exclaimed  Pembroke, 
"  that  there  is  an  old  Virginia  colonel  up  here,  who  says, 
'  By  God,  sah,  South  Carolina  brought  on  the  war,  and 
Virginia  has  to  fight  it! '  " 

"  It  is  untrue,  like  all  other  epigrams!  "  exclaimed 
Tourville,  defensively. 

"  Come  outside,"  said  Pembroke;  "  I  have  some- 
thing of  importance  to  tell  you,  something  that  con- 
17 


252  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

cerns  you  very  nearly.  De  Courcelles  and  Tourville 
also  know  it  and  they  can  come  with  us." 

His  face  hecame  grave,  and  I  followed  him  into  the 
yard.  We  sat  down  there  on  a  little  mound  of  earth, 
and  other  prisoners  who  were  taking  the  air  looked 
curiously  at  us,  but  refrained  from  speaking  or  coming 
too  near. 

"  Varian  is  in  Kichmond,"  said  Pembroke. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  that  is  bad  news  for  me,"  I  re- 
plied. "  The  man's  character  must  become  known  to 
the  Confederate  authorities,  and  they  will  not  tolerate 
such  conduct  as  his." 

"But  you  do  not  understand  the  situation,"  con- 
tinued Pembroke.  "  Varian  tells  a  story  altogether 
unlike  yours.  Don't  flush  that  way — I  never  said  that 
I  believed  him.  I've  known  you  too  long,  Henry,  to 
think  that  you  would  lie.  I  merely  give  his  tale  as  he 
tells  it.  He  says  you  were  his  prisoner,  and  that  he 
treated  you  with  the  utmost  kindness,  allowing  you  to 
remain  in  your  house.  He  gave  you  your  parole  and 
you  foully  broke  it.  You  slipped  away,  and  then  you 
cozened  and  kidnapped  a  young  girl  to  whom  he  was 
betrothed,  going  with  her  through  some  sort  of  a  cere- 
mony and  then  attempting  to  escape  to  the  Northern 
lines,  but  fortunately  he  recaptured  you  both.  His 
lieutenant,  Blanchard,  swears  that  everything  Varian 
tells  is  the  truth." 

"  They  lie!  They  lie  in  every  word!  "  I  broke  out 
indignantly. 

"  So  they  do,"  continued  Pembroke;  "  but  he  has 
brought  Mrs.  Maynard  with  him  from  the  West,  and  she 
too  supports  Varian  in  all  or  most  that  he  says.  Oh, 
she  is  furious  against  you!  And  you  must  bear  in 
mind,  Henry,  that  Varian  is  one  of  our  most  brilliant 
leaders.  They  say  that  he  can  become  a  Jeb  Stuart  or 
even  a  Stonewall  Jackson  if  he  has  the  opportunity. 
He  has  rendered  us  services  of  the  greatest  value,  and  as 


WITHIN  OLD  LIBBY'S  WALLS  253 

we  are  expecting  more  and  greater  from  him,  how  can 
the  authorities  punish  him,  especially  when  he  pleads 
not  guilty?  Think — think,  Henry,  how  little  the 
word  of  a  mere  prisoner,  an  enemy  to  us,  will  weigh 
against  the  assertion  of  one  of  our  most  brilliant  and 
influential  generals,  even  in  the  minds  of  men  most 
honourable  and  fair-minded." 

"  And  he  makes  no  secret  of  his  love  for  the  beauti- 
ful young  Madam  Kingsford!  "  exclaimed  De  Cour- 
celles.  "  That  creates  him  sympathy  and  friends,  and, 
mon  Dieu,  you  are  a  most  troublesome  fellow,  Monsieur 
Kingsford.  Half  the  young  men  left  in  Eichmond  are 
already  wishing  that  somebody  would  make  your  lovely 
wife  your  widow.  But  you  have  friends  too.  There 
is  a  faction  that  applauds  you  because  you  were  bold 
enough  to  steal  away  the  girl  who  loved  you.  Your 
very  presumption,  Mr.  Kingsford,  has  made  you  ad- 
mirers, as  one  of  whom  I  beg  to  present  myself." 

"  He  speaks  the  truth,"  said  Pembroke.  "  Your 
fame  is  made  and  you  did  not  know  it.  Everybody  is 
talking  about  you,  and  the  young  fellows  have  hung 
around  our  door  to  get  a  sight  of  Elinor,  who  they  hear 
is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world.  The  news- 
papers have  taken  up  the  affair,  and  naturally  they 
have  divided.  The  Whig  supports  you  warmly,  but 
the  Examiner  insists  that  Varian  has  been  wronged 
foully,  and  that  you  ought  to  be  shot.  Varian  himself 
is  most  active.  He  has  seen  President  Davis,  and  he  is 
to  have  an  interview  with  General  Lee,  who  will  be  here 
in  a  few  days.  He  wants  the  courts  to  annul  this  mar- 
riage, and  he  is  going  to  bring  all  possible  pressure  to 
bear  upon  them." 

"  The  courts  can  do  nothing  without  Elinor,"  I  said 
with  scorn. 

"  That  is  true,  but  Mrs.  Maynard  makes  a  demand 
for  Elinor,  who  is  a  minor,  and  we  shall  be  compelled 
to  give  her  up,  as  her  aunt  is  her  legal  guardian." 


254  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  They  can  not  break  Elinor's  will  even  then,"  I  said 
confidently. 

"  No/'  replied  Pembroke,  "  but  something  may  hap- 
pen to  you,  and  after  that  could  a  young  girl  resist  such 
pressure  always?  But  I  trust,  Henry,  you  will  not  for- 
get that  you  have  friends  outside  these  walls  who  will 
work  for  you  according  to  their  power." 

They  left  us,  and,  despite  my  faith  in  Elinor,  I  had 
gloomy  days — more  for  her  than  for  myself.  Her  love 
for  me  was  proving  her  misfortune,  but  I  would  not 
dream  of  giving  it  up. 

Time  passed.  My  friends  came  to  see  me  occasion- 
ally, but  Elinor  never.  They  told  me  that  she  was  with 
her  aunt,  and  could  visit  as  she  chose  in  the  city,  but 
permission  to  enter  the  prison  and  see  me  was  denied 
her.  It  was  Varian's  influence,  they  had  no  doubt. 
Then  these  loyal  friends  too  disappeared,  and  there 
came  rumours  to  us  in  the  prison  of  some  great  move- 
ment. Although  it  was  winter,  the  armies  of  the  North 
were  advancing,  and  a  battle  was  impending.  Then 
came  another  rumour — one  that  filled  our  prison  with 
sad  faces.  The  North  had  failed  again.  Burnside  had 
hurled  his  army  against  Lee,  who  stood  on  the  hills  of 
Fredericksburg,  and  our  forces  had  been  cut  to  pieces. 
Fifteen  thousand  of  our  brave  men  had  fallen — to  no 
purpose. 

"  Is  it  always  to  be  this  way?  "  groaned  one  of  my 
fellow-prisoners,  a  captain.  "  Do  our  generals  think 
that  we  have  too  many  men,  and  try  to  get  them  killed 
off?" 

I  could  give  him  no  comfort,  and  when  Pembroke 
came  back  the  story  that  he  told  me  did  not  relieve  our 
gloom. 

"  It  was  a  headlong  charge  against  an  impregnable 
position,"  he  said.  "  Your  troops  were  as  brave  as 
mortal  men  could  be,  and  they  attacked  not  once  or 
twice  but  a  half-dozen  times  or  more.     But  it  was  not 


WITHIN  OLD  LIBBY'S  WALLS  255 

in  human  flesh  and  blood  to  stand  so  much,  and  they 
had  to  retreat  at  last." 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  morning  when  he  told  me  this, 
and  I  had  been  allowed  to  walk  in  a  court  a  little  for 
fresh  air.  I  shivered,  both  from  the  effects  of  the  cold 
and  the  tale  that  he  had  to  tell. 

"  The  city  is  exultant,"  he  says;  "  but  God  knows 
I  can  not  rejoice  over  the  killing  and  wounding  of  so 
many  of  our  brethren." 

It  was  a  dark,  lowering  day,  full  of  mists  and  va- 
pours. The  cold  winds  blew  down  from  the  hills  and 
moaned  around  the  brick  walls  of  the  old  tobacco  ware- 
house that  had  become  Libby  Prison.  I  looked  at  the 
gloomy  building  and  forbidding  skies  and  longed  for 
freedom. 

"  What  of  Elinor?  "  I  asked  at  last.  But  she  had 
been  in  my  mind  all  the  time. 

"  She  is  still  with  her  aunt  in  the  house  that  Mrs. 
Maynard  has  taken  in  Grace  Street  near  ours,"  said 
Pembroke.  "  My  mother  and  sisters  go  to  see  her  there, 
and  she  has  had  her  share  in  the  winter  gaieties  of  Eich- 
mond;  not  that  she  enjoys  them — I  can  not  say  so 
much,  but  it  was  best  for  her  to  do  so,  at  least  to  make 
the  appearance.  She  has  been  present  at  a  dinner  and 
a  reception  at  the  President's  house,  and  she  may  go 
wherever  she  chooses,  save  here." 

I  felt  a  pang  of  pain  and  jealousy.  Elinor  in  the 
midst  of  winter  gaieties,  while  I,  her  husband,  was 
lying  in  prison,  but  I  dismissed  it  in  a  moment  as  an 
unworthy  thought  against  the  truest  woman  in  the 
world.  It  was  right  for  her  to  hold  up  her  head  and 
defy  all  our  enemies. 

One  of  the  guards,  a  rough  but  kind-hearted  North 
Carolinian,  called  on  me  the  next  day  and  told  me  that 
I  was  to  see  a  lady  who  was  waiting  in  a  room  next  to 
the  commandant's  office. 

"  A  purty  one  too,  she  is,"  he  said  in  his  mountain 


256  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

dialect;  "  an'  now  march  along,  will  you,  Mr.  Kings- 
ford,  'cause  I've  got  orders  ter  watch  yer  and  shoot  yer 
if  yer  try  ter  break  out,  which  I  hope,  fer  yer  own  sake 
and  mine  too,  yer  won't  try  ter  do." 

I  promised  him  that  I  would  not  provoke  a  shot,  and 
went  on  ahead  in  the  way  that  he  indicated,  feeling  sure 
that  the  lady  was  Miss  Pembroke,  and  hoping  to  hear 
from  her  news  that  her  brother  would  never  think  to 
bring.  Women  are  much  better  news-bearers  than  men 
on  these  occasions. 

"  In  thar,"  said  my  guard.  "  Thar's  nobody  else  in 
thar  but  her,  and  nobody  else  ain't  goin'  ter  hear  what 
yer  say;  but  recollec'  that  ef  yer  try  ter  break  out,  I'm 
here  at  the  door  with  a  gun." 

I  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered.  It  was  dark 
in  the  little  room,  and  a  lady  wrapped  in  a  heavy  fur 
cloak  sat  in  a  chair,  waiting.  I  did  not  need  to  see  her 
face;  the  mere  outline  of  that  figure  was  enough.  I 
knew  that  it  was  Elinor.  "  Elinor!  "  I  cried,  and  the 
next  moment  she  was  in  my  arms. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  Henry,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  come  to 
see  you  at  last.     Had  you  thought  me  faithless?  " 

I  called  punishment  upon  my  own  head  for  that 
single  moment  of  doubt.  There  was  nothing  but  truth 
in  her  eyes  and  voice,  nor  could  ever  be. 

"  How  did  you  secure  leave  to  come  here  ?  "  I  asked, 
as  we  sat  down  side  by  side. 

She  smiled  and  then  laughed — a  low  laugh,  but  yet 
a  laugh. 

"  It  was  a  woman  who  did  it,"  she  said.  "  Even  I 
myself.  It  was  at  President  Davis's  reception  to  his 
victorious  generals  three  nights  ago — behold  how  I  have 
fallen  into  the  Southern  habit  of  calling  him  '  Presi- 
dent ' — and  I  walked  with  him  a  little  in  the  halls  when 
the  others  were  dancing.  I  think  he  likes  me,  Henry, 
and — and  I  sought  especially  to  please  him  that  even- 
ing.    I  said  I  thought  the  Confederacy  would  triumph. 


WITHIN  OLD  LIBBY'S  WALLS  257 

Won't  I  get  forgiveness  for  saying  that,  Henry?  And  I 
indicated  rather  than  spoke  of  the  wisdom  with  which 
it  was  governed — all  men  are  only  mortal,  Henry,  and 
we  women  learn  these  weak  points;  we  must  if  we  mean 
to  continue  our  rule.  I  could  have  led  you  more 
easily;  he  was  difficult — oh,  so  difficult! — and  I  all  the 
time  thinking  of  you  here  in  this  gloomy  prison.  And 
then  I  began  to  talk  of  you.  I  said  to  him  that  if  he 
were  locked  up  in  a  prison  and  his  wife  were  here  in  the 
city,  going  wherever  she  chose,  except  where  her  hus- 
band was,  would  he  not  feel  that  he  was  treated  badly? 
'  But,  my  dear  young  madam,'  he  protested,  '  you  have 
been  deceived.  You  have  married  this  man  under  a 
misapprehension  as  to  his  character.  General  Varian, 
one  of  our  most  brilliant  and  deserving  leaders  says 
that  Mr.  Kingsford  broke  his  parole.  We  ought  to 
have  him  shot,  and  perhaps  it  is  for  your  sake  that  I 
do  not  have  it  done.  I  know  you  love  him,  and  that 
is  why  you  believe  what  he  says;  but  it  is  a  fatal  truth 
that  a  woman  both  good  and  brilliant  may  love  a  bad 
or  even  foolish  man.  There  is  your  aunt,  who  has  had 
both  experience  and  judgment,  who,  although  knowing 
nothing  about  the  question  of  the  parole,  is  as  bitter 
as  General  Varian  against  this  young  man.' 

"  But  I  would  not  let  him  talk  me  down,  Henry.  I 
insisted  that  a  woman's  instinct  was  true;  that  you 
would  not  do  anything  dishonourable,  and  that  General 
Varian  said  these  things  of  you  because  he  hated  you. 
'  It  might  be  so,'  he  replied  under  his  breath — so  very 
low,  but  I  heard  him — and  when  he  said  it  he  gave  me  a 
queer  look.  Then  he  laughed  and  added:  '  well,  I  shall 
let  you  see  this  man.  It  can  do  no  harm,  perhaps,  al- 
though I  am  sure  that  it  will  do  no  good  either.'  But  he 
wrote  the  order  that  very  evening — I  would  not  let  him 
wait — although  he  made  it  good  for  to-day  only;  and 
now  I  have  come,  Henry." 

I  asked  her  then  about  her  life  in  Eichmond. 


258  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  I  have  many  friends/'  she  said.  "  Nobody  could 
be  kinder  to  me  than  the  Pembrokes,  and  Mary  is  the 
dearest  girl  in  the  world.  De  Courcelles  thinks  so  too, 
and  swears  that  he  has  been  devoted  all  his  life  to  the 
cause  of  the  South,  even  before  he  ever  saw  America, 
and  he  is  a  zealous  defender  of  the  Southern  cause, 
most  zealous  of  all  when  Mary  is  present.  And  I  have 
other  friends  too.  It  is  why  I  have  accepted  the  hospi- 
tality of  all  these  kind  people  in  Eichmond,  and  have 
gone  with  them  to  their  entertainments.  I  was  selfish 
in  it  perhaps,  but  I  was  selfish  for  you,  for  us.  I  wished 
to  secure  the  aid  of  those  powerful  enough  to  defeat  the 
plans  of  General  Varian  against  us,  and  I  believe  that 
I  have,  Henry." 

I  kissed  her  hands,  saying  that  never  did  man  have 
such  a  wife  as  mine.  She  blushed  with  pleasure,  and  I 
say,  moreover,  that  what  I  said  I  meant.  The  short 
time  allotted  to  us  passed  all  too  soon,  but  even  after  she 
was  gone  the  light  of  her  presence  seemed  to  illuminate 
for  me  the  gloomy  prison. 


CHAPTEE   XXXI 


BEFORE   THE    GENEEALS 


I  hoped  that  Elinor  would  come  again  soon,  but 
time  passed  and  she  did  not,  nor  did  I  hear  from  her; 
neither  did  any  message  come  from  Pembroke,  Tour- 
ville,  or  De  Courcelles,  and  I  supposed  that  they  had 
been  called  away  from  Eichmond  by  the  stress  of  mili- 
tary duty,  a  wholly  likely  guess.  Elinor,  I  presumed, 
was  not  able  to  obtain  leave  to  visit  me  a  second  time, 
and  I  resigned  myself  as  best  I  could  to  an  absence  of 
all  news  from  those  for  whom  I  cared  most.  I  had 
heard  nothing,  of  course,  from  my  grandmother,  but  I 
believed  that  she  and  William  Penn  were  safe.  The 
centre  of  the  war  in  the  West  seemed  to  have  shifted 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  her  house  and  to  the  south- 
ward. I  was  wondering  who  would  prove  our  future 
leaders  to  victory,  when  my  North  Carolina  guard  told 
me  in  his  rough  but  friendly  way  that  I  had  visitors 
again.  Two  men  were  waiting  this  time  to  see  me  in 
the  same  little  office  next  to  that  of  the  commandant. 
Pembroke  and  De  Courcelles,  I  thought  likely,  as  I  was 
escorted  to  the  room,  but  I  had  never  seen  before  the 
two  who  awaited  me  there.  They  did  not  rise  as  I 
entered,  but  the  elder  motioned  me  quickly  and  with 
authority  to  a  chair  evidently  placed  for  me. 

I  took  the  seat  and  met  their  stern,  inquiring  gaze 
with  confidence.  I  have  said  that  I  never  saw  them 
before,  but  I  knew  them  nevertheless.  I  was  fully 
aware  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  Lee  and  Jackson, 

259 


260  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  two  great  military  figures  of  the  Confederacy.  We 
had  heard  so  much  about  them  in  the  prison — they  had 
been  described  to  us  so  often — that  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. My  gaze,  therefore,  was  as  curious  as  theirs. 
General  Lee  sat  nearest  to  me,  a  large  man  of  impres- 
sive appearance,  with  a  great  dome  of  a  head  and  open 
features.  He  was  dressed  with  the  most  exact  neatness, 
in  his  general's  uniform  of  Confederate  gray,  with  a 
splendid  sword  at  his  side.  He  was  the  embodiment  of 
dignity,  and  seemed  to  be  in  all  respects  a  man  who 
knew  the  world  and  its  manners.  Involuntarily  I  made 
a  contrast  between  him  and  Lincoln,  and  yet  I  think 
there  was  something  alike  in  their  characters,  although 
one  preferred  his  State  to  his  country,  a  view  with 
which  I  can  not  agree. 

Stonewall  Jackson  was  more  like  Lincoln  in  figure 
and  general  appearance,  barring  the  Northern  Presi- 
dent's great  height.  He  looked  bent  and  awkward  as 
he  sat  in  the  chair.  An  old  gray  cloak  was  wrapped 
about  the  upper  part  of  his  body,  and  came  almost  to 
his  chin.  His  military  boots  were  splashed  with  mud. 
His  face  was  almost  hidden  by  a  thick,  black,  and 
ragged  beard,  and  the  flap  of  his  hat,  which  he  did 
not  take  off;  but  a  pair  of  eyes  as  fiery  as  a  coal  glit- 
tered through  the  black  tangle  and  let  no  movement  or 
expression  of  mine  escape  them.  Such  was  "  Fool 
Tom "  Jackson,  the  eccentric  professor  in  peace,  the 
great  Stonewall  Jackson  of  the  civil  war. 

"  Mr.  Kingsf ord,"  said  General  Lee,  speaking  in 
slow  and  precise  tones,  "there  is  a  strange  tale  of 
you  which  has  penetrated  every  house  in  Eichmond, 
which  has  even  reached  our  army  at  the  front,  and  has 
been  a  cause  of  gossip  around  our  camp  fires.  It  con- 
nects you  with  a  young  lady  and  one  of  my  most  valiant 
and  trusted  officers." 

I  saw  that  his  cool  gray  eyes  were  watching  me  in- 
tently, and  I  did  not  flinch  from  his  gaze. 


BEFORE  THE  GENERALS  261 

"  I  can  imagine  what  it  is,"  I  said,  as  he  paused, 
seeming  to  wait  for  a  reply.  "  The  young  lady  is  Eli- 
nor Kingsford,  my  wife,  and  the  man  is  Philip  Augus- 
tus Varian,  a  general  in  your  service." 

"  Quite  correct,"  he  said.  "  It  is  understood  that 
you  charged  General  Varian  with  attempting  your  life, 
or  indirectly  inciting  attempts  upon  it,  for  private  rea- 
sons. General  Varian,  on  the  contrary,  denies  this,  say- 
ing too  that  you  broke  your  parole,  and  stole  a  young 
lady  away  from  her  guardian." 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  drop  the  charge  of  steal- 
ing the  young  lady,"  suddenly  said  General  Jackson, 
speaking  for  the  first  time.  "  If  you  were  of  his  age 
and  were  in  love  with  her,  you  might  have  stolen  her 
too." 

I  was  surprised  and  delighted  at  this  unexpected 
support  from  such  a  quarter,  but  General  Jackson  said 
no  more.  A  faint  smile  appeared  on  General  Lee's 
face,  and  the  look  that  he  bent  upon  me  softened  a 
little. 

"  General  Jackson  is  right,"  he  said.  "  That  sin,  if 
it  be  a  sin  at  all,  is  one  of  the  sins  of  youth,  and  we  can 
scarcely  punish  it  in  a  country  like  ours,  where  it  is 
happening  many  thousand  times  every  year.  But  the 
matter  of  your  parole  is  much  more  serious.  You  are 
aware  that  we  can  not  deny  the  word  of  such  a  man  as 
General  Varian,  and  you  have  not  a  single  witness  to 
support  your  claim." 

"  No,  but  I  speak  the  truth,"  I  said  boldly. 

"  There  are  those  in  the  city  who  believe  in  you,"  he 
continued,  "  and  more  who  would  support  you  if  they 
could  for  your  wife's  sake.  It  makes  the  strangest  case 
that  I  have  ever  known,  and  because  of  its  peculiar 
features  we  have  come  here  at  the  President's  own  re- 
quest to  see  you  and  speak  with  you.  Will  you  tell  us 
this  entire  story?  " 

I  related  all  the  facts,  so  far  as  I  knew  them,  from 


262  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  beginning  to  the  end,  keeping  Elinor  as  much  in  the 
background  as  I  could,  as  I  did  not  wish  to  discuss  my 
wife  with  anybody.  They  listened  with  the  most  ab- 
sorbed attention,  an  interest  that  seemed  to  me  extraor- 
dinary on  the  part  of  two  great  generals,  weighted  with 
the  cares  of  a  mighty  civil  war.  However  straight  my 
story,  and  however  great  the  interest  that  Elinor  might 
have  excited  in  Richmond,  our  fate  bore  little  relation 
to  the  work  of  these  two  men.  Yet  they  missed  no  de- 
tail; instead,  they  often  asked  me  to  tell  over  again 
parts  of  my  narrative,  and  always  those  parts  were  about 
Varian.  I  did  not  dream  then  of  what  was  in  their 
minds,  nor  did  I  have  any  intimation  of  it  until  long 
afterward. 

"  Yours  is  a  tale  which  we  would  not  have  believed," 
said  Stonewall  Jackson,  speaking  for  the  second  time, 
"  but  there  is  a  witness." 

"  A  witness!  "  I  exclaimed. 

He  nodded  his  head. 

"  My  wife?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  said  General  Lee,  "  not  your  wife.  It  would 
be  held  generally  that  she  is  not  an  impartial  witness. 
We  speak  of  another — a  man,  a  Southern  soldier.  Do 
you  know  Major  Titus  Tyler,  of  Mississippi?  " 

I  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  shame.  I  had  scarcely 
thought  of  the  good  major  since  last  I  saw  him,  but  I 
quickly  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  A  good  man  and  a  brave  one,"  said  General  Lee; 
"  but  not  of  great  judgment,  and  overf ond  of  talking. 
Still,  all  say  that  he  is  truthful.  He  was  severely 
wounded  in  a  skirmish  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia  a  day 
or  two  after  your  escape  from  General  Varian,  and  has 
just  been  invalided  to  Eichmond.  And  he  tells  a  tale, 
Mr.  Kingsford,  with  which  you  are  connected — a  tale 
that  is  far  more  extraordinary  than  yours,  one  that  we 
are  compelled  to  investigate." 

"  May  I  ask  what  it  is?  "  I  said,  in  growing  wonder. 


BEFORE  THE  GENERALS  263 

"  Not  now,"  he  replied,  "  although  you  will  know 
beyond  a  doubt  some  day.  But  in  view  of  the  testi- 
mony of  Major  Tyler  we  have  decided  to  keep  you  here 
and  not  exchange  you,  at  least  not  for  the  present,  and 
you  need  not  concern  yourself  about  the  matter  of  the 
parole.  As  for  the  young  lady,  we  have  decided,  with 
the  full  concurrence  of  the  President,  to  take  her  from 
her  aunt  and  place  her  with  Mrs.  Pembroke  and  her 
daughter.  We  would  not  have  a  right  to  do  it  if  we 
were  opposed,  but  there  will  be  no  opposition.  You 
must  be  content  with  this." 

"  I  am  more  than  content,"  I  said  with  deep  grati- 
tude. Yet  I  felt  mystified,  as  if  Elinor's  fortunes  and 
mine  had  become  entangled  with  others.  But  I  was 
grateful  enough  to  accept  with  thanks  this  unknown 
factor  in  our  behalf.  Elinor  with  her  aunt  was  more  or 
less  in  the  power  of  Varian,  and  her  removal  to  the 
house  of  the  Pembrokes  was  a  triumph. 

The  two  generals  then  bade  me  a  courteous  good  day 
and  left.  I  was  destined  to  see  both  once  again,  but 
under  far  different  circumstances. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 


ON   A    NARROW   STAGE 


And  now  Christmas  was  approaching.  A  gloomy 
Christmas  it  was  for  those  who  loved  the  Union,  smart- 
ing under  the  great  defeat  at  Fredericksburg,  and 
gloomiest  Christmas  of  all  it  was  for  us,  locked  in  a 
prison  under  triple  guards,  and  suffering  from  the 
deadly  monotony  of  such  a  life — a  life  shut  off  from  all 
the  world  and  its  interests.  I  can  not  now  think  of  a 
man  in  prison,  even  though  he  be  a  criminal,  without  a 
thrill  of  pity.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  held  by  four 
walls. 

But  the  holiday  feeling,  even  in  those  gloomy  times, 
penetrated  the  barriers  of  brick  and  stone,  passed  the 
numerous  sentinels  with  their  loaded  guns,  and  reached 
the  poor  prisoners  who  waited  so  longingly  for  the 
news  of  great  victories  that  never  came.  We  felt  it 
in  our  bones,  and  for  days  past  the  most  active  among 
us  had  been  arranging  for  a  celebration,  an  evening 
of  Christmas  theatricals,  an  event  the  rumours  of 
which  had  gone  already  outside  the  prison,  and  ex- 
cited the  wonder  of  the  people  of  Richmond.  The 
preparations  were  far  advanced  even  when  the  two  gen- 
erals paid  me  their  visit,  and  I  was  to  take  a  part. 

Our  guards  were  kind  to  us  then,  and  it  was  with 

no  great  difficulty  that  we  obtained  permission  from 

the   Confederate   authorities  to   display   our  dramatic 

talents.     People  had  not  grown  so  hard  as  they  became 

264 


ON  A  NARROW  STAGE  265 

in  the  later  years  of  the  war,  and  we  found  plenty  of 
sympathy.  It  was  said,  too,  that  Richmond  itself,  owing 
to  the  increasing  curiosity  in  the  city  concerning  our 
venture,  would  send  as  many  spectators  as  the  mili- 
tary authorities  would  allow. 

Our  ambition  grew  with  this  news,  and  we  decided 
to  give  our  entertainment  in  a  manner  that  was  right 
and  fitting.  The  majority  of  us  had  a  little  money, 
and  I  received  the  appointment  to  solicit  funds  for 
programmes,  succeeding  well  in  the  task. ,  The  authori- 
ties permitted  us  to  hire  the  work  from  one  of  the  news- 
paper offices  outside,  and  in  due  time  the  programmes 
came.  I  have  one  of  them  yet,  and  even  now,  as  I 
write  these  lines,  I  stop  a  little  to  take  it  out  of  the 
drawer  and  look  at  it,  and  smile  at  the  memory  of 
the  men — boys  rather — who  worked  with  such  eager 
zest  to  prepare  that  Christmas  festival.  Nor  is  there 
much  sadness  in  the  recollection.  Nearly  all  of 
them  are  living  yet,  the  majority  scarcely  in  middle 
age.  A  few,  exchanged  or  escaped,  fell  on  later  battle- 
fields. 

It  was  a  long  and  varied  entertainment  that  our  pro- 
grammes announced,  and  perhaps  it  would  not  be  called 
intellectual  drama  now,  but  it  was  the  best  that  we 
could  do  with  our  slender  resources,  and  you  will  admit, 
perhaps,  that  our  art  lacked  freedom  of  development. 
The  printer  did  well  by  us,  giving  us  the  worth  of  our 
money,  finishing  the  programmes  in  handsome  style, 
and  putting  around  each  a  border,  but  with  grim  hu- 
mour making  this  border  a  chain.  We  appreciated  the 
jest  and  made  no  objection.  Our  evening  was  to  begin 
with  a  minstrel  performance  consisting  of  more  than 
twenty  songs,  dances,  and  instrumental  selections,  clos- 
ing with  a  short  piece  called  The  Rival  Claimants. 
Then  we  were  to  give,  after  an  intermission,  a  comedy 
entitled  The  Countryman  in  Town,  which  would  be 
our  severest  dramatic   effort,  and  the  evening  would 


266  IN  CIECLING  CAMPS 

close  with  a  grand  masquerade  ball,  in  which  all  the 
members  of  the  company  were  to  take  part. 

We  worked  with  the  most  extraordinary  zest.  We 
had  nothing  else  to  do,  and  it  was  a  happy  idea,  a  relief 
from  the  deadly  monotony  of  our  lives.  We  bought  a 
violin,  a  bass-viol,  a  banjo,  and  a  flute:  it  was  not  diffi- 
cult to  find  men  who  could  play  them  after  a  fashion, 
and  thus  we  provided  for  an  orchestra.  The  "  cook 
room,"  a  great  apartment  on  the  first  floor,  convenient 
because  of  its  size,  was  to  be  the  scene  of  our  festivities, 
and  we  sent  word,  through  the  guards,  to  the  people  in 
the  city  that  the  audience  were  expected  to  bring  their 
seats  with  them.     We  could  provide  none. 

I  dwell  upon  these  details,  both  for  their  own  sake 
and  because  of  what  followed,  making  that  the  most 
memorable  Christmas  night  in  my  life. 

I  was  not  hoping  for  any  message  from  Elinor,  not 
expecting  that  fortune  would  be  so  kind;  but,  two  days 
before  Christmas,  Mary  Pembroke,  blond  and  happy — 
I  suspected  that  she  had  a  letter  from  De  Courcelles — 
saw  me  in  the  prison,  and  told  me  that  Elinor  would 
be  there  on  Christmas  night,  coming  with  her  and  her 
mother. 

Christmas  night  arrived,  bringing  its  early  winter 
darkness,  and  the  old  warehouse  was  filled  with  the 
noise  and  confusion  of  untried  actors  and  stage  man- 
agers. The  curtain  was  to  rise  at  seven  o'clock,  and  it 
was  promised  to  us  that  "  lights  out "  would  not  sound 
until  twelve  o'clock  instead  of  nine,  the  usual  hour. 
We  had  built  a  stage  of  old  boxes  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  and  an  expanse  of  red  calico  hanging  from  a 
string  was  our  curtain. 

Three  tallow  candles  served  as  footlights,  and  be- 
hold, the  theatre  was  complete!  All  the  actors  were 
gathered  in  the  rear  of  the  stage,  behind  another  cur- 
tain, making  ready  for  their  parts,  and  every  one  of  us 
was  as  eager  as  a  beginner  on  the  real  stage.     The  senti- 


ON  A  NARROW  STAGE  267 

nels,  feeling  secure  of  us,  and  moved  by  curiosity,  as 
their  lives,  like  ours,  were  full  of  deadly  dulness, 
watched  the  curtain  with  interest,  and  relaxed  some- 
what the  severity  of  their  discipline. 

I  dwell  again  upon  details  that  you,  who  go  where 
you  please  and  see  what  you  please,  may  know  to  what 
straits  we  were  reduced  within  the  walls  of  a  military 
prison,  and  how  we  struggled  even  there  to  maintain 
our  interest  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

"  Shall  we  have  a  good  house  to-night,  do  you  think, 
eh,  Kingsford?"  asked  George  Warren,  a  young  lieu- 
tenant from  Massachusetts,  who  was  cast  for  a  tambou- 
rine dance,  and  whose  good  spirits  were  unfailing. 

"  We  can  plead  that  our  opportunities  are  limited," 
I  replied. 

Ours  was  a  cheerful  company.  The  Christmas  feel- 
ing had  come  undoubtedly;  our  work  aroused  gaiety  in 
us  all,  and  now  and  then  we  lifted  the  curtain  to  cast 
jests  at  the  guards,  who  received  them  with  good  hu- 
mour, and  paid  them  back  as  best  they  could  in  like 
fashion.  The  orchestra  was  testing  its  instruments, 
and  the  notes  of  the  flute  mingled  with  the  tanging 
of  the  violin  strings.  A  farm  lad  named  Sullivan,  from 
Wisconsin,  was  to  play  the  violin,  and  almost  uncon- 
sciously his  bow  slid  into  the  air  of  Home,  Sweet 
Home.  "  If  you  don't  stop  that,  Sullivan,"  exclaimed 
Warren  suddenly,  "  I'll  take  your  fiddle  away  from 
you  and  break  it  over  your  own  head!  Play  anything 
else  but  that!  "  "  I  guess  you're  right,"  said  Sulli- 
van, submissively,  and  he  gave  a  few  notes  of  Yankee 
Doodle. 

"  They're  coming!  The  audience  is  coming,"  said 
Harris,  an  eager  boy  of  not  more  than  seventeen,  and 
we  peeped  through  the  curtain  to  see  the  first  arrivals. 
It  was  a  party  of  three  Confederate  officers,  three  civil- 
ians, and  four  ladies,  bringing  with  them  some  empty 
nail  kegs,  which  were  to  serve  as  orchestra  chairs,  and 
18 


268  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

two  lanterns.  They  took  their  seats  quietly  and  waited 
with  great  curiosity  for  the  raising  of  the  curtain. 

The  audience  now  came  rapidly,  and  I  watched  their 
entrance  as  much  as  my  duties  would  allow,  waiting  all 
the  while  for  those  whom  I,  wished  most  to  see.  1  saw 
them  at  last — Elinor,  Mrs.  Pembroke,  Miss  Pembroke, 
and  Tourville.  Tourville  carried  his  left  arm  in  a 
sling,  and  I  inferred  that  he  had  received  another  and 
a  recent  wound,  thus  accounting  for  his  absence  from 
the  front.  Elinor  was  paler  than  when  I  had  last  seen 
her,  and  she  too  watched  the  curtain  with  eyes  which 
were  full  of  deep  expectation.  I  would  have  given 
her  a  sign,  some  word  or  gesture  of  greeting,  but  I 
could  not. 

Our  curiosity  was  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  we  appreciated  too  the  friendly  interest  that 
was  shown  in  us.  Confederate  officers  were  numerous 
in  the  crowd,  but  civilians  constituted  the  majority. 
The  lights  of  the  lanterns  and  the  tallow  candles  flick- 
ered over  them  and  only  half  dispelled  the  dark  in  the 
great,  gloomy  room.  I  think  it  is  rare  that  a  line  of 
armed  guards  divide  the  players  on  the  stage  from  the 
spectators,  though  it  might  be  wise;  however,  it  was  a 
trifle  that  we  did  not  mind,  and  the  curtain  was  ready 
to  rise.  Elinor  and  her  friends  were  sitting  very  near 
the  stage,  but  they  did  not  see  me  until  the  evening 
was  half  over,  my  part  not  calling  for  my  appearance 
until  then. 

We  began  with  a  minstrel  show,  a  form  of  theatrical 
entertainment  most  popular  at  that  time,  and  our  men 
played  the  tambourine,  the  bones,  and  the  banjo  with 
much  enthusiasm  and  what  skill  they  had,  pleasing  the 
audience  mightily  and  drawing  continued  applause. 
Thus  the  friendly  relations  between  actors  and  people 
increased,  and  the  guards  became  more  lax;  in  truth, 
there  was  little  reason  at  all  for  their  vigilance,  as 
around  us  were  the  walls  of  the  prison;  beyond  them 


ON  A  NARROW  STAGE  269 

lay  the  hostile  city,  and  beyond  that  the  country  as 
hostile.  There  was  much  laughter,  but  I  saw  what 
looked  to  me  like  tears  in  Elinor's  eyes.  She  beheld 
only  the  pathetic  side  of  our  little  show. 

We  rose  in  ambition  after  the  minstrel  perform- 
ance. Those  of  us  who  had  voices  sang  passages  from 
Ernani  and  Norma,  and  we  even  gave  the  serenade 
from  Lucia  di  Lammermoor.  But  it  was  in  the  little 
one-act  play,  the  Eival  Claimants,  that  I  appeared  just 
for  a  minute,  and  only  to  speak  a  dozen  words  or  so,  as 
my  histrionic  abilities  are  not  large,  and  I  took  a  part 
solely  because  I  was  needed.  Elinor's  eyes  met  mine 
for  a  moment,  and  she  smiled.  But  the  smile  was 
pathetic,  as  her  look  throughout  the  evening  had  been. 

The  performance  was  passing  smoothly;  the  ap- 
plause increased;  we  were  on  the  friendliest  terms  with 
our  audience,  and  we  reached  the  culmination  of  our 
genius,  the  short  comedy  The  Countryman  in  Town. 
This,  too,  was  passing  to  the  music  of  applause  and  con- 
scious success,  when  I  saw  one  of  the  flickering  candles 
in  the  front  row  of  the  spectators  blaze  up  suddenly.  A 
woman  had  leaned  over  too  far,  and  the  light,  fluffy 
sleeve  of  her  dress  caught  fire  from  the  candle.  An 
officer  sitting  next  to  her  instantly  put  out  the  blaze 
with  his  military  cloak  before  any  harm  was  done,  but 
not  too  soon  to  stop  a  panic.  The  ladies  nearest  to 
the  scene  of  the  accident  cried  out  in  fear,  the  men 
rushed  forward  to  help,  and  in  ten  seconds  the  room  was 
in  confusion;  some  of  the  more  timid  fled  toward  the 
door,  the  guards  forgot  their  duties  in  their  eagerness 
to  help  put  out  the  fire,  and  the  officers  were  shouting 
in  unbelieving  ears  that  nothing  was  wrong. 

I  was  standing  at  the  very  edge  of  the  stage  when 
this  accident,  so  trifling  in  itself,  so  great  in  its  conse- 
quences to  me,  occurred,  and  I  saw  as  if  in  a  flash  of 
light  the  opportunity  created  so  suddenly.  I  sprang 
from  the  stage  and  darted  among  the  crowd,  too  con- 


270  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

fused  now  to  pay  any  attention  to  me — all  save  one.  A 
light  hand  was  on  my  arm,  and  a  glowing  face  was  near 
mine. 

"  By  the  wall,  where  it  is  dark,  Henry!  "  she  ex- 
claimed; "  and  they  will  not  notice  you." 

I  ran  by  the  west  wall,  where  the  lights  were  fewest, 
and  toward  the  door.  It  was  so  simple  that  I  was 
amazed  at  my  own  fortune.  The  exultant  hope  of 
liberty  gave  me  presence  of  mind.  I  snatched  from  a 
chair  the  cap  and  cloak  of  an  officer,  and  rushed 
through  the  doorway  and  down  a  hall.  A  sentinel 
met  me. 

"  In  there  at  once! "  I  cried,  "  and  help  them  put 
out  the  fire,  or  our  own  people  will  be  burned  to 
death!  "  Thus  spreading  the  alarm  among  the  guards, 
I  fled  past  them  all  and  through  the  door  and  gates,  and 
presently  I  was  outside  the  prison  and  in  the  cold  free 
air  of  Christmas  night,  scarcely  realizing  how  it  was 
done. 

I  had  not  the  slightest  fear  for  Elinor.  The  tumult 
was  subsiding  even  before  I  left  the  room,  and  she  was 
in  no  danger  whatever.  I  heard  long  afterward  that 
the  play  was  resumed  with  entire  equanimity  in  fifteen 
minutes,  and  that  I  was  not  missed  either  by  the  guards 
or  those  behind  the  curtain — my  part  was  finisned — 
until  the  play  was  over,  the  audience  was  gone,  "  Lights 
out!  "  were  sounded,  and  Christmas  morning  had  be- 
gun. But  I  have  heard  too  that  one  Confederate  officer 
swore  profoundly  when  he  found  that  he  had  to  go  to 
his  quarters  in  the  wintry  air  without  his  cap  and  cloak. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

IN     THE     WILDEENESS 

I  stopped  in  the  street,  bewildered  a  moment  by  my 
freedom,  but  I  retained  presence  of  mind  to  set  the  cap 
in  a  jaunty  and  careless  way  on  the  side  of  my  head,  and 
to  let  the  cloak  hang  in  rakish  fashion  from  my  shoul- 
ders. Then  I  walked  along  for  all  the  world  like  a 
young  officer  returning  from  a  Christmas  eve  call  upon 
his  sweetheart.  I  was  out  of  the  prison,  but  not  out 
of  Richmond,  yet  I  was  confident  that  I  could  escape. 
I  believed  that  it  was  about  half  past  ten  o'clock,  and  I 
knew  that  it  was  cold.  A  citizen,  a  substantial  man  of 
middle  age,  looking  like  a  merchant,  stopped  me  and 
asked  me  if  anything  was  happening  at  the  prison,  as 
he  had  just  heard  a  rumour  of  trouble  there.  I  told 
him  the  exact  truth  about  the  accident,  and  thanking 
me,  he  went  on.  My  cap  and  cloak  were  Southern,  my 
accent  Southern,  and  he  never  suspected. 

I  passed  Capitol  Square  before  I  chose  a  course, 
and  then  I  turned  my  steps  toward  the  James.  I  had 
been  in  Richmond  only  once  before  in  my  life,  coming 
there  as  a  military  prisoner,  and  my  recollections  were 
vague  in  some  respects,  but  I  believed  that  I  could 
reach  the  river  without  interruption.  My  belief  was 
justified,  and  soon  I  stood  upon  the  banks  of  the  James, 
a  silent  torrent,  but  as  cold  as  ice.  I  had  conceived  a 
hazy  idea  of  swimming  to  the  Manchester  shore,  from 
which  point  I  could  escape  more  easily  through  the 

271 


272  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

fortifications,  but  one  look  at  the  river  showed  me  how 
foolish  was  the  hope.  My  muscles  would  be  paralyzed 
by  the  icy  current  and  I  would  drown  helplessly.  My 
heart  sank.  I  had  breathed  the  breath  of  freedom  a 
half  hour,  and  it  intoxicated  me.  My  mind  was  filled 
already  with  dreams  of  an  escape  to  Washington,  the 
rescue  of  Elinor,  and  an  end  to  all  our  troubles. 

I  wandered  by  the  shore  a  long  time,  hiding  when  I 
heard  or  saw  any  one  coming,  and  vainly  seeking  to 
devise  some  plan  of  further  flight.  When  I  grew  cold  I 
crept  once  into  an  empty  and  abandoned  tobacco  hogs- 
head lying  on  the  ground.  The  warmth  was  so  grateful 
that  I  lay  there  some  time,  and  while  within  its  shelter 
I  heard  clocks  strike  the  hour  of  twelve,  and  the  bells  in 
the  spire  of  a  church  ring  in  Christmas  morning.  The 
sound  was  wonderfully  clear  and  distinct  in  the  frosty 
air,  and  peace  seemed  to  hang  over  the  city  for  which 
the  hosts  of  the  North  and  South  were  fighting.  But 
the  holiday  glow  had  left  me.  I  felt  lonely  and  discour- 
aged, and  I  was  tempted  to  wish  myself  back  in  Libby 
with  my  comrades,  where  I  might  at  least  hear  friendly 
voices  and  see  sympathetic  faces.  But  this  feeling  was 
short.  Triumphs  were  not  won  in  such  a  spirit,  and 
coming  out  of  the  hogshead,  I  began  anew  to  plan.  I 
was  aware,  too,  that  if  I  did  anything  I  must  do  it 
soon,  as  I  might  be  missed  at  any  moment,  and  even 
before  then  some  vigilant  soldier  might  demand  why 
I  lounged  along  the  shores  of  the  James  at  such  an 
hour. 

The  city  was  still  quiet.  I  heard  scarcely  a  sound. 
The  stars  winked  in  the  clear  cold  heavens,  and  lights 
shone  here  and  there  from  a  window.  I  came  presently 
to  a  little  group  of  cabins,  apparently  of  the  kind  inhab- 
ited by  coloured  people,  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  an  axe. 
An  old  negro  was  cutting  wood  in  the  rear  of  a  hut, 
and  I  watched  him  a  little  while,  letting  the  new 
idea  that  was  born  in  my  mind  grow  there.     I  would 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  273 

risk  everything  on  a  single  chance,  and  if  I  lost  I  could 
say  that  I  would  have  lost  anyhow,  as  there  was  nothing 
else  to  do. 

"  Uncle,"  I  said  to  the  old  man,  "  can  you  show  me 
how  to  escape  from  Eichmond?  " 

He  raised  his  axe  defensively,  startled  by  my  voice, 
as  he  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  my  approach.  When 
his  apprehension  disappeared  he  looked  at  me  in  sur- 
prise. 

"You,  a  Confedrit  officer,  ask  me  that  question!" 
he  said. 

"  I  am  not  a  Confederate  officer,"  I  replied.  "  I  am 
a  Northern  soldier  just  escaped  from  Libby  Prison." 

Then  I  awaited  in  doubt  his  answer.  It  is  a  strange 
truth,  and  perhaps  not  so  strange,  that  many  of  the  col- 
oured people  whom  we  were  fighting  to  free  regarded 
the  Northern  soldiers  as  ogres,  and  remained  through- 
out the  war  loyal  to  their  Southern  masters. 

"  See!  "  I  said,  opening  my  cloak  and  showing  the 
faded  and  dingy  blue  of  a  Northern  uniform. 

"  Come  into  the  house,  marster,"  he  said,  and  led 
the  way  through  the  kitchen  door  into  his  cabin.  He 
lighted  a  candle,  set  it  on  the  table,  and  motioned  me  to 
a  seat  in  the  single  chair  that  the  kitchen  could  boast. 
Then  he  went  into  the  only  other  room  that  the  house 
had,  and  came  forth  presently  with  his  wife,  a  woman  of 
some  fifty-five  or  sixty  years,  much  larger  and  evidently 
of  much  more  decided  character  than  her  lord  and  mas- 
ter. Then,  standing  there  in  the  middle  of  the  little 
kitchen,  they  held  a  conference  upon  my  fate,  while  I 
sat  meekly  in  the  chair  awaiting  the  verdict.  The 
woman  at  length  spoke  up. 

"  We  can't  get  you  out  o'  Eichmond  to-night,"  she 
said.  "  It'll  have  to  be  done  by  the  river  when  we  do  it, 
but  the  night's  too  bright.  If  my  old  man  tried  to  pad- 
dle away  with  you  he'd  be  seen  shore." 

"  Then  you  can  do  nothing  for  me?  "  I  asked. 


274  IN  CIRCLING   CAMPS 

"  We  ain't  said  that  yet,"  she  replied.  "  Jest  you 
hide  here  in  our  room  till  the  chance  comes,  and  we'll 
get  you  out  o'  Eichmond." 

No  one  ever  had  more  loyal  and  devoted  friends  than 
that  humble  old  coloured  couple  who  never  saw  me 
until  that  night,  and  who  hid  me  without  hope  of  re- 
ward. I  remained  more  than  three  weeks  in  their  little 
cabin,  slipping  out  now  and  then  at  night,  and  awaiting 
a  favourable  chance  to  escape  by  the  river.  They  even 
served  me  in  other  ways,  as  I  asked  the  woman  to  go  to 
the  house  of  the  Pembrokes  in  Grace  Street,  call  for 
Mrs.  Elinor  Kingsford,  and  tell  her  how  I  fared.  That 
was  after  I  had  been  with  them  ten  days,  and  the  woman 
returned,  her  eyes  shining  in  her  black  face. 

"  Did  you  see  her?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  marster,"  she  replied,  "  an'  I'm  mighty  glad 
now  fur  the  sake  of  that  chile  that  we've  tried  to  help 
you." 

"What  did  she  say?"  I  asked,  with  increasing 
eagerness. 

"  She  cried  a  little,  and  said  she  was  so  glad  you'd 
found  friends,  an'  she  hoped  you'd  git  out  o'  Eichmon' 
soon.    She  said  she'd  come  to  see  you,  but  she  dassen't." 

"  That  must  not  be!  You  must  not  permit  it!  "  I 
said.  "  She  would  be  watched,  and  it  might  make 
trouble  for  her." 

"  I  ain't  no  fool,"  said  the  woman  gravely.  "  I 
wouldn't  tell  her  whar  I  live,  'cause  I  was  afraid  she'd 
come  anyhow.  Don't  you  believe  them  white  ladies 
when  they  say  they  dassen't  go  to  see  their  husbands, 
an'  I  spects  the  coloured  ones  are  about  the  same." 

The  old  man  brought  me  a  report,  a  few  days  after 
the  new  year,  that  a  great  battle  had  been  fought  in 
the  West,  on  the  last  day  of  the  old  year,  near  Stone 
Eiver,  Tennessee,  as  bloody,  as  desperate,  and  as  inde- 
cisive as  Shiloh.  There  was  little  comfort  in  this  news 
to  a  lover  of  a  united  country.     The  North  must  do 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  275 

more  than  fight  drawn  battles  to  hold  the  Union  to- 
gether. 

The  dark  night  came  at  last.  The  man  had  secured 
a  skiff,  and  he  said  that  he  would  steal  up  the  river 
with  me,  landing  me  in  the  woods,  where  a  friend  of  his, 
another  black  man,  would  meet  me. 

"  Take  care  o'  yourself,  marster,  for  the  sake  of  that 
purty  gal  in  Eichmon'  that  loves  you,"  said  the  woman 
at  parting. 

I  promised,  and  I  spoke  of  a  hope  to  reward  her 
some  day,  but  she  would  hear  of  nothing,  and  went 
back  into  the  house  with  a  caution  to  her  husband  to  be 
careful.  She  was  a  true  soul  in  a  humble  station,  risk- 
ing much  for  what  she  believed  was  right,  and  without 
a  thought  of  pay. 

The  night  was  pitchy  dark,  otherwise  we  would  not 
have  made  the  venture,  and  we  ran  the  gantlet  safely. 
We  passed  a  gunboat  once,  her  lights  burning  on  the 
deck,  but  our  skiff  slid  by  in  the  darkness  like  a  phan- 
tom, and  no  one  saw  us.  We  heard,  too,  the  rattle  of 
arms  on  shore  and  saw  the  lights  of  forts,  but  we  passed 
them  all  unchallenged,  and  before  morning  my  guide, 
protector,  and  friend  landed  me  in  the  woods,  where 
another  coloured  man,  old  and  gnarled  like  himself,  met 
us.  He  called  the  second  man  Thomas,  his  own  name 
was  Ephraim,  and  I  never  knew  the  last  name  of 
either.  Thomas  was  a  woodcutter,  almost  a  hermit,  liv- 
ing alone  in  the  tangle  of  forest  and  undergrowth  far 
to  the  northeast  of  Eichmond.  He  was  to  take  charge 
of  me,  delivered  like  a  bale  of  goods  by  his  friend 
Ephraim,  and  pass  me  through  the  Confederate  lines 
as  soon  as  the  opportunity  came.  They  used  to  send 
slaves  North  by  the  underground  route,  and  now,  the 
case  being  reversed,  I  seemed  to  be  passing  that  way. 
There  was  a  certain  humour  and  no  humiliation  in  the 
thought. 

"  Good-bye,  Ephraim,"  I  said;  "  no  man  has  truer 


276  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

friends  than  Malinda  " — Malinda  was  his  wife — "  and 
you  have  been  to  me." 

I  still  had  gold,  which  I  carried  in  an  inside  pocket 
of  my  waistcoat,  and  I  thrust  half  of  it  in  his  hand;  I 
wished  to  keep  the  other  half  for  Thomas.  He  sought 
to  give  it  back,  but  I  held  my  hands  behind  me,  and 
asked  Thomas  to  lead  the  way  through  the  forest.  I 
looked  back  once,  and  saw  him  stow  the  gold  in  his 
pocket,  and  then  get  into  his  boat.  It  was  but  small 
repayment  that  I  could  make  him. 

Thomas  and  I  walked  briskly  until  sunrise.  He 
was  a  little,  bent  old  negro,  but  wonderfully  sturdy  and 
enduring.  He  had  a  broad,  honest  face,  and  I  never 
felt  the  slightest  doubt  of  his  trustworthiness.  The 
long,  swift  walk  through  the  forest,  the  little  black  man 
flitting  on  before  like  a  ghost,  filled  me  with  a  sense  of 
exhilaration.  The  cold  air  invited  exercise,  and  the 
blood,  grown  sluggish  by  long  inactivity,  began  to  flow 
again  in  a  vigorous  torrent  through  my  veins. 

The  house  of  Thomas,  a  log  hut  standing  in  a  tiny 
clearing,  was  even  smaller  than  Ephraim's,  but  it  was 
destined  to  be  my  home  much  longer  than  I  had  antici- 
pated. The  line  of  the  Confederate  posts  stretched  be- 
tween Washington  and  me,  so  Thomas  told  me,  and  the 
Southern  troops  were  exercising  the  greatest  vigilance 
and  caution.  The  winter  season  even  did  not  permit 
relaxation,  as  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg,  fought  in 
December,  showed  that  cold  weather  guaranteed  no  im- 
munity from  a  campaign.  I  might  be  captured  or  I 
might  not  if  I  made  the  attempt,  but  in  any  event  the 
risk  was  great,  and  I  chose  not  to  make  the  trial  at 
present.  I  had  been  a  captive  too  often  to  return  to 
Libby  with  a  good  grace,  and  I  stayed  with  the  old 
man,  biding  my  time.  The  days  passed  and  the  oppor- 
tunity did  not  come;  the  Southern  lines  converged 
more  closely  around  us,  and  that  lone  little  hut  in  the 
woods  seemed  to  have  become  a  focus  of  great  military 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  277 

movements.  Thomas  told  me  that  the  forest  was  full 
of  the  Southern  cavalry,  and  he  cautioned  me  to  stay 
close  in  the  house. 

It  was  nearly  February  when  I  arrived  there,  and  I 
saw  some  of  the  winter  storms  sweep  through  the  woods. 
A  deep  snow  fell  once,  and  I  heard  the  boughs  crack- 
ing like  pistol  shots  under  its  weight.  The  Southern 
cavalry  would  not  ride  so  freely  in  such  weather,  but  it 
was  an  equal  obstacle  to  me,  it  being  almost  impossible 
to  go  on  ioot  through  it  to  Washington  or  the  Northern 
army,  and  Thomas  said  that  the  attempt  would  be  mad- 
ness. So  I  lingered,  and  when  the  snow  passed  away 
the  Southern  troops  came  again,  often  passing  through 
the  clearing  in  which  stood  the  hut.  They  entered  it 
once  to  warm  their  cold  hands  by  the  fire,  but  I  was 
lying  then  in  the  little  loft  just  under  the  roof,  extended 
full  length  on  the  rafters,  and  they  never  dreamed  of 
my  presence.  I  heard  their  talk  distinctly  through  the 
numerous  cracks  between  the  planks,  and  I  gathered 
from  it  that  they  expected  another  advance  of  the 
Northern  army  as  soon  as  the  spring  began  and  the 
roads  dried  sufficiently  for  the  passage  of  the  artillery. 
I  heard  them  mention  Varian's  name  once.  It  seemed 
that  he  was  in  command  of  a  considerable  body  of  cav- 
alry in  the  neighbourhood,  and  he  was  expected  to  keep 
in  touch  with  the  Northern  horse  and  watch  every  hos- 
tile movement.  They  spoke  highly  of  his  skill  and  vigi- 
lance, and  the  knowledge  of  his  proximity  showed  me 
how  great  had  been  my  need  of  caution.  I  saw  now  the 
full  reason  of  Thomas's  advice  to  wait. 

The  winter  passed  thus,  and  I  was  still  at  the  hut 
in  the  woods.  I  tried  twice  to  escape  through  the 
Southern  lines,  but  on  each  occasion  was  forced  to  turn 
back  for  fear  of  recapture.  Thomas  went  into  Eich- 
mond  and,  following  my  instructions,  was  able,  with  the 
aid  of  Ephraim,  to  bring  back  a  message  from  Elinor. 
She  was  yet  with  the  Pembrokes,  being  accepted  now  as 


278  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

almost  one  of  the  family,  and  she  would  remain  there 
until  she  received  a  message  from  me  to  come. 

Old  Virginia  grew  green  and  then  bloomed  under 
the  touch  of  spring,  and  I  was  devoured  by  impatience. 
To  be  held  there  so  long,  almost  in  sight  of  my  goal,  was 
the  utmost  trial,  and  I  grew  sore  in  spirit.  A  third  at- 
tempt proved  futile  like  the  others,  but,  waiting  a  week 
longer,  I  prepared  myself  for  a  fourth,  resolved  not  to 
turn  back,  no  matter  what  befell  me.  Every  motive 
now  induced  my  departure,  as  it  was  evident,  from  the 
reports  brought  by  Thomas,  that  some  great  military 
movement  was  impending.  The  Northern  army  was 
advancing  and  a  battle  would  be  fought.  I  could  not 
lie  there  in  the  forest  at  such  a  time,  to  be  taken  any 
day  by  scouting  troopers  like  a  rabbit  in  a  snare.  I 
was  filled,  too,  with  the  desire  for  action,  and  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  pursued  always  by  others.  I  was  tired  of 
being  a  prisoner  or  a  fugitive. 

Thomas  gave  me  a  little  knapsack  filled  with  food, 
and  I  made  him  take  the  last  of  the  gold,  except  a  few 
pieces  that  I  must  use  on  the  way  to  Washington.  He 
was  like  Ephraim,  and  did  not  wish  to  accept  it,  but  I 
compelled  him.  I  think  it  was  his  plan  to  go  at  once 
to  Eichmond  and  buy  a  pair  of  fine  new  axes,  tools  that 
would  delight  the  soul  of  this  honest  black  wood- 
cutter. 

I  knew  the  general  direction  of  Washington  and  I 
laid  my  course  by  the  sun,  starting  at  sunrise  of  a 
beautiful  spring  morning,  and  walking  steadily.  I  kept 
to  the  woods  and  fields,  avoiding  the  roads,  which  I  was 
sure  would  be  trodden  by  the  Southern  forces.  I  saw 
their  cavalry  three  times,  and  once  a  troop  of  horse 
which  I  believed  to  be  ours,  although  they  were  too  far 
away  for  me  to  reach  by  signal,  and  were  soon  gone  at  a 
speed  that  forbade  any  hope  of  my  joining  them.  But 
I  was  strong  and  eager,  and  I  walked  many  miles  that 
day,  adopting  the  Indian  pace — the  long,  swinging  gait 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  279 

that  gives  the  greatest  speed  with  the  least  fatigue — and 
when  night  came  I  was  far  on  the  journey  toward 
Washington.  The  country  was  unknown  to  me,  but  I 
still  travelled  by  the  sun  and  had  no  fear  that  I  was 
going  in  the  wrong  direction.  My  journey  so  far  was  a 
success.  Nowhere  had  I  found  the  way  barred.  The 
Confederate  lines  seemed  to  have  been  shifted  farther 
toward  the  northeast,  and  I  believed  it  to  be  a  result 
of  the  preparations  for  the  impending  battle.  I 
stopped  just  after  dark  in  a  clump  of  woods  to  eat  some 
of  the  cold  food  that  Thomas  had  put  in  the  knapsack, 
and  to  rest  a  while.  It  was  a  fine,  clear  night,  myriads 
of  stars  twinkling  in  a  sky  of  silky  blue,  and  the  warm 
air  was  laden  with  the  fresh  odours  of  spring. 

It  was  not  a  beautiful  country  into  which  I  had 
come:  a  wilderness  of  bleak,  red  hills,  half  clad  in  a 
scrubby  second  growth  of  forest;  many  gullies  washed 
here  and  there  by  the  rains,  and  now  and  then  an  "  old 
field  "  grown  up  with  sassafras  bushes.  I  passed  over 
an  ancient  and  abandoned  iron  furnace,  but  inhabitants 
there  seemed  to  be  none. 

I  was  in  the  sombre  shades  of  the  Wilderness,  that 
gloomy  region  of  Virginia  whose  sanguinary  recollec- 
tions even  now  appal  the  Americans  who  fought  there, 
an  area  of  land  that  bore  more  dead  men's  bones  than 
any  other  of  modern  times.  But  I  had  no  thought  then 
of  what  the  future  was  to  bring.  I  ate  the  bacon  and 
corn  bread,  sitting  on  a  fallen  log  in  the  dense  thicket 
and  invisible  to  any  one  twenty  feet  away.  I  wished  to 
take  a  good  rest  and  travel  all  the  remainder  of  the 
night,  as  darkness  was  my  best  protection,  and  I  hoped 
that  the  morning  would  see  me  in  the  Northern  army  or 
at  least  beyond  the  Southern  lines.  While  I  was  sitting 
there  I  heard  faint  and  far  the  note  of  a  trumpet — Ta- 
ra-ra-ta-ra-ra!  It  was  repeated  and  grew  louder,  and 
then  was  answered  from  the  left  by  another  trumpet. 
Cavalry  again  I  was  sure,  and  they  were  converging  upon 


280  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

me,  although  unconscious  of  it.  But  I  felt  no  alarm. 
I  was  hidden  in  the  thicket  as  securely  as  a  rabbit  in  its 
burrow,  and  no  horse  would  enter  such  a  covert.  I 
stood  up  among  the  bushes  and  saw  a  line  of  cavalry 
passing  along  a  woodland  path,  showing  but  a  little 
while  against  the  clear  sky  and  then  disappearing.  The 
sound  of  the  trumpets  became  fainter  and  died. 

I  resumed  my  flight  about  nine  o'clock,  having 
marked  well  the  direction,  and  pressed  forward  with  all 
diligence.  It  was  about  an  hour  later  when  I  stopped, 
startled  by  a  low  muttering  sound  like  the  far  swell  of 
the  sea,  that  seemed  to  come  up  from  the  eastern  hori- 
zon. It  was  a  distant  cannon  shot  that  betokened  the 
gathering  of  armies,  and,  although  I  knew  it  not,  it  was 
the  rumbling  thunder  of  Chancellors ville.  I  was  lis- 
tening to  the  opening  notes  of  the  great  battle. 

I  passed  on,  and  to  the  eastward  I  heard  another 
cannon  shot,  and  then  another,  and  then  another.  Dim 
red  flashes  appeared  on  the  misty  horizon,  and  once  I 
heard  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs.  I  began  now  to  feel 
an  interest  that  was  more  than  personal.  Here  were 
movements  of  importance,  and  my  flight  had  taken  me 
among  them.  There  was  danger  in  it,  and  yet  it  gave 
me  opportunity,  too.  Armies  gathering  for  battle  would 
not  notice  one  straggler  as  he  stole  through  the  wilder- 
ness. 

The  sounds  in  the  east  grew  to  a  low  but  steady 
rumble.  I  shifted  to  the  westward,  that  I  might  pass 
around  this  cannonade,  but  my  change  of  course 
brought  to  my  ears  the  thuDder  of  guns  in  the  west  too. 
I  was  between  two  fires,  and,  deciding  that  it  was  best 
for  me  to  go  straight  ahead,  I  pushed  on,  still  keeping 
to  the  densest  of  the  thickets,  the  voice  of  the  guns 
steadily  growing  louder.  Troops  began  to  pass  me,  and 
all  were  of  the  South.  They  came  so  near  once  that  I 
lay  down  in  the  bushes  behind  a  log,  and  I  could  under- 
stand the  words  they  spoke  as  they  passed  by.     They 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  281 

began  to  sing  presently,  many  hundreds  of  hoarse  voices 
joining  in  a  chant  that  was  low,  rolling,  and  majestic, 
and  this  was  the  song: 

"  We  see  him  now!  the  old  slouched  hat 

Cocked  o'er  his  eye  askew ; 
The  shrewd,  dry  smile,  the  speech  so  pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 
The  '  Blue  Light  Elder  '  knows  o'er  well, 
Says  he :  '  That's  Banks,  he's  fond  of  shell ; 
Lord  save  his  soul !  we'll  give  him — '  well, 

That's  Stonewall  Jackson's  way. 

"  Ah,  maiden!  wait  and  watch  and  yearn 

For  news  of  Stonewall's  band ; 
Ah,  widows!  read  with  tears  that  burn 

The  ring  upon  thy  hand ; 
Ah,  wife !  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on ; 
Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn ; 
The  foe  had  better  ne'er  been  born 

Than  get  in  Stonewall  Jackson's  way! " 

They  passed  on,  and  the  song  still  rang  in  my  ears 
like  an  echo. 

I  lay  hidden  all  the  time  in  the  scrub  while  an  entire 
brigade  passed,  but  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  I 
arose  and  hastened  on  with  doubled  speed,  not  wishing 
to  be  caught  within  the  ring  of  battle. 

I  saw  troops  again  moving  along  a  road,  and  I 
curved  back  into  the  thickets,  coming  presently  to  the 
brow  of  a  low  hill,  where  I  lay  down  among  the  bushes. 
The  sound  of  voices,  as  if  in  earnest  conversation, 
reached  me  there,  and,  crawling  to  the  edge  of  the  hill 
where  I  still  lay  hidden  in  the  thickets,  I  looked  down 
the  slope. 

Two  men  were  sitting  on  empty  cracker  boxes,  talk- 
ing, and  looking  occasionally  at  a  paper  which  I  sup- 
posed bore  a  map.  The  faces  of  both  showed  intense 
interest  and  preoccupation.  A  sentinel,  gun  on  shoul- 
der, paced  back  and  forth  near  them,  and  three  or  four 


282  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

sticks  of  wood  thrown  together  gave  out  a  fire  like  a 
little  torch. 

I  knew  those  men — one  large,  imposing,  but  dressed 
so  neatly;  the  other  smaller,  shabby,  his  face  covered 
with  an  unkempt  black  beard.  They  were  the  two  who 
had  asked  me  questions  in  the  prison.  I  was  looking  at 
Stonewall  Jackson  as  he  planned  with  Lee  his  last  great 
battle. 

I  watched  them  a  little  while,  full  of  curiosity,  and 
then  I  stole  away,  conscious  that  my  place  was  not 
there,  and  eager  to  reach  the  army  to  which  I  belonged. 
I  travelled  all  night,  and  good  fortune  went  on  before 
me  as  a  guide.  I  heard  continually  and  on  every  side  of 
me  the  low  thunder  of  distant  guns,  and  beheld  now 
and  then  the  flashes  on  the  horizon,  but  no  one  saw  me 
as  I  passed  through  the  Confederate  lines. 

It  was  nearly  morning  when  I  came  to  a  little  brook, 
and  kneeling,  drank  eagerly.  I  washed  my  face  then  in 
the  cool  water,  and  seeking  the  nearest  thicket,  lay  down 
half  under  a  fallen  log,  where  one  to  see  me  must  first 
step  on  me.  The  distant  music  of  the  cannon  was  still 
in  my  ears  as  I,  worn  out,  fell  asleep.  It  was  the  same 
music  of  the  guns  that  lulled  me  to  deeper  slumbers, 
and  when  I  awoke  at  midday,  the  brilliant  sun  pene- 
trating even  the  bushes  that  covered  me,  the  thunder 
of  the  cannon  was  still  sounding  in  my  ears. 

I  ate  the  last  of  the  food,  listening  with  all  my  ears 
and  looking  with  all  my  eyes.  The  east  was  in  a  red 
flame,  and  I  knew  that  the  steady  roaring  was  made  by 
many  great  guns.  But,  refreshed  and  strengthened,  I 
passed  it  by  and  fled  toward  Washington.  I  met  on  the 
way,  however,  some  of  our  broken  battalions,  learning 
from  them  of  our  great  defeat  and  Stonewall  Jackson's 
death.  I  reached  the  capital  the  day  after  I  heard 
this  news,  and  enlisted  anew  as  a  soldier  in  the  Union 
cause,  being  assigned  to  service,  contrary  to  my  wish, 
however,  in  the  Washington  garrison. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

A   MAN    OF   HEAET 

I  had  been  gone  from  "Washington  only  a  year  and  a 
half,  but  I  found  great  changes  at  the  capital.  There 
was  an  increase  in  warlike  appearance;  it  was  the 
centre  of  a  circle  of  bayonets;  line  after  line  of  in- 
trenchments  curved  away,  and  I  noticed  that  most  of 
them  faced  the  south;  thousands  of  troops  occupied 
these,  and  their  tents  were  more  numerous  than  the 
houses  of  the  inhabitants.  It  was  soldiers,  soldiers 
everywhere,  and  the  rule  of  the  republic  had  become 
the  rule  of  the  sword. 

Washington  was  no  longer  a  capital,  but  it  was  half 
camp,  half  hospital,  and  huge  in  either  aspect;  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  forts  encircled  it,  and  fifteen  hundred 
cannon  stood  sentinel,  facing  every  point  from  which 
a  foe  could  come;  within  the  rim  of  cannon  rose  the 
hospitals,  and  these  hospitals,  always  more  to-day  than 
they  were  yesterday,  never  went  unfilled;  the  battle- 
fields of  Virginia,  so  prolific  in  cannon  balls,  saw  to 
that,  and  the  current  of  the  wounded  flowed  northward 
in  an  unbroken  stream. 

Although  I  knew  that  I  had  no  right  to  expect 
anything  else — for  how  could  the  war  work  other- 
wise?— this  aspect  of  the  capital  gave  me  a  shock.  I 
had  shared  in  the  Jeffersonian  dream  of  a  republic 
always  at  peace,  and  I  still  believed  it  a  beautiful 
dream. 

19  283 


284  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Another  change  in  the  capital  was  the  disappear- 
ance of  all  things  Southern  save  its  sunshine.  The  tall, 
thin,  smooth-shaven  men,  in  black  clothes,  coat-tails 
very  long,  and  wide-brimmed  soft  black  hats,  who  fre- 
quented the  hotels  and  public  buildings,  and  loved  to 
talk  politics  and  government  in  flowing  and  soft  speech, 
were  gone,  and  the  liquid  Southern  accent  so  pleasing 
to  me  was  seldom  heard. 

I  chafed  at  my  assignment  to  garrison  duty  at  Wash- 
ington, wishing  to  join  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and 
also  to  secure  Elinor's  transfer  from  the  capital  of  the 
South  to  the  capital  of  the  North,  setting  my  right  as 
her  husband  against  Mrs.  Maynard's  right  as  her  aunt. 
But  I  could  not  escape  the  Washington  service,  and 
making  the  best  of  it,  I  went  at  the  first  opportunity  to 
see  Elinor's  uncle,  Paul  Warner,  her  uncle  by  marriage, 
not  blood,  and  therefore  with  less  claim  upon  her  than 
Mrs.  Maynard. 

The  great  double  brick  house  in  which  Paul  Warner 
lived  showed  even  more  numerous  signs  of  splendour 
and  opulence  than  it  boasted  at  the  opening  of  the 
war.  The  way  of  an  army  contractor  who  knew  the 
ways  of  men  was  not  paved  with  roses,  but  with  some- 
thing very  much  more  substantial  and  welcome — name- 
ly, gold  dollars;  and  no  one  was  shrewder  in  his  own 
business  than  Paul  Warner.  There  were  tales  in  the 
army  of  shoes  with  pasteboard  soles  and  uniforms  that 
fell  to  pieces  in  the  winter  rains,  and  I  doubted  not  that 
Paul  Warner  could  tell  some  of  their  secrets;  but  he  was 
Elinor's  uncle  nevertheless.  He  was  proud  of  her  and 
he  loved  her  in  his  way.  He  would  care  for  her  if  I 
could  bring  her  to  Washington. 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise  when  he  entered  the 
parlour  where  I  was  sitting. 

"  I  heard  a  report  somewhere  that  you  had  been 
killed  in  the  West,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  see  that  it  is  not  true,"  I  replied. 


A  MAN  OF  HEART  285 

"  I  am  glad/'  he  said,  and  I  believe  that  he  spoke 
the  truth.     Moreover,  he  shook  hands  with  me  heartily. 

"  Mr.  Warner,"  I  said,  "  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that 
since  I  last  saw  you  I  have  become  your  kinsman." 

"  My  kinsman?  " 

"  Yes,  your  nephew." 

His  heavy  face  stirred  with  a  look  of  the  deepest 
interest,  and  then  I  told  him  all  our  long  and  strange 
story. 

"  I  did  not  choose  you  as  my  nephew,"  he  said  when 
I  finished.  "  Men  seldom  choose  their  relations, 
whether  by  blood  or  marriage,  or  they  might  do  worse; 
but  since  it  is  done  I  must  accept  you,  and  Elinor  is  a 
good  girl.  Her  choice  of  you  is  at  least  in  your  favour, 
and  she  must  come  to  Washington,  if  a  way  can  be 
found.  But  it  is  an  affair  for  me  to  conduct.  I  have 
more  influence  than  you." 

I  was  willing  enough  that  he  should  act,  but  I  did 
not  intend  to  relax  my  own  exertions  meanwhile.  I 
was  not  able,  however,  to  get  a  message  through  the 
lines  to  Eichmond,  nor  was  he,  so  far  as  I  could  hear. 
But  I  had  the  great  pleasure,  however,  of  receiving  a  let- 
ter from  my  grandmother.  I  had  written  to  her  imme- 
diately upon  my  arrival  in  Washington,  telling  her  the 
whole  history  of  Elinor  and  myself,  or  at  least  as  much 
as  I  knew  of  it,  since  our  flight  on  the  night  of  our 
marriage. 

"  I  feel  that  all  things  will  come  out  right  with  you 
both,"  said  Madam  Arlington  in  conclusion,  "  but  I  fear 
for  you,  Henry,  in  that  wicked  city,  among  all  those 
Yankees  who  will  certainly  suffer  the  continued  defeats 
that  they  deserve.  It  is  best  that  Elinor  remain  in 
Eichmond  amid  such  inspiring  surroundings  until  the 
war  is  over,  when  you  can  claim  her.  Perhaps  your  ac- 
tion in  this  war  will  not  then  be  held  against  you,  and 
your  Southern  relatives  and  friends  may  be  influential 


286  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

enough  to  convince  all  that  you  were  misguided  and 
not  wicked.  Never  fear  that  Elinor  will  not  be  able 
to  take  care  of  herself  in  Richmond.  Women  are  not 
so  weak  and  defenceless  as  men  think  they  are — which 
belief  flatters  man's  pride  in  his  own  strength — although 
they  like  to  feel  that  they  have  protectors  within  call. 

"  Our  affairs  here,  by  God's  will,  progress  favour- 
ably. We  have  not  been  annoyed  since  your  departure, 
either  by  regular  troops  or  guerrillas.  The  spring  rains 
were  abundant  and  the  crops  promise  well.  I  see  no 
change  in  William  Penn;  I  tell  him  that  he  is  growing 
older,  but  he  replies  that  it  is  not  important.  Remem- 
ber, Henry,  in  all  your  campaigning  to  keep  your  head 
cool  and  your  feet  warm. 

"  Your  loving  grandmother, 

"  Caroline  Arlington." 

A  day  or  two  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter  I  met 
Mason,  just  come  out  of  hospital  from  a  wound  re- 
ceived at  Chancellorsville.  He  gave  me  news  of  Shaf- 
toe,  who  he  said  had  secured  a  transfer  to  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  shortly  after  Shiloh.  The  veteran, 
so  Mason  told  me,  was  sure  that  the  great  theatre 
of  the  war  was  to  be  in  the  East,  and  because  of  that 
he  wished  to  come.  I  was  walking  along  Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue  only  three  days  after  this  when  a  heavy 
hand  fell  upon  my  shoulder,  and  a  loud  voice  said  in 
my  ear: 

"  As  many  lives  as  a  cat  and  swaggering  through  the 
town  as  if  you  owned  it!  Is  there  anything  so  big  as 
the  pride  of  youth?  " 

It  was  Shaftoe,  the  same  trim  soldier  as  of  old, 
gladness  showing  in  his  eyes.  I  shook  hands  with  him 
with  the  greatest  joy,  and  when  we  began  to  exchange 
stories  I  found  that  he  too  had  been  on  garrison  duty 
in  Washington  for  a  longer  period  than  I.  He  had 
fought  at  Chancellorsville,  but  had  been  sent  to  the 


A  MAN  OF  HEART  287 

capital  with  his  brigade  immediately  after  the  defeat, 
when  it  was  feared  that  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia 
might  move  on  the  city. 

"  And  you  see  I  was  here  when  you  came/'  he  said 
with  twinkling  eyes.  "  It  was  strange  that  I  did  not 
hear  of  your  arrival  and  the  mighty  re-enforcement  it 
made  for  our  armies;  but  so  it  was." 

I  felt  as  usual  the  tonic  cheerfulness  of  his  presence. 
There  was  something  in  this  man,  his  quiet  confidence, 
his  unfailing  optimism — or  shall  I  rather  call  it  a  de- 
termination to  make  the  best  of  everything? — that  ren- 
dered discouragement  impossible  among  those  whom  he 
honoured  with  his  friendship;  I  use  the  word  "  hon- 
oured "  purposely.  I  told  him  the  entire  story  of  my 
marriage,  our  flight  and  recapture,  and  my.  escape  from 
Libby  Prison.  He  was  thoughtful,  and  for  a  little  while 
made  no  comment.     Then  he  said: 

"  I  do  not  think  that  you  have  heard  the  last  of 
Varian.  He  is  one  of  the  best  soldiers  on  American  soil 
to-day.  He  has  every  quality  that  a  cavalry  com- 
mander ought  to  have.  He's  been  giving  us  every  sort 
of  trouble,  but  all  the  same  I'm  glad  he's  on  their  side 
and  not  ours.  There's  a  particular  kind  of  man  that 
thinks  the  world  was  made  for  him  to  squeeze  like 
an  orange.  If  he's  beat  just  once  he  gets  mad  at 
everybody,  friends  and  enemies  alike.  Now,  this  Gen- 
eral Yarian  has  lost  what  he  wanted  most,  and  the  claws 
will  begin  to  show." 

Shaftoe  gave  me  more  good  advice,  and  I  was  confi- 
dent both  of  his  judgment  and  his  friendship.  I  man- 
aged to  procure  an  exchange  into  the  company  to  which 
he  belonged,  but  both  of  us  were  held  a  further  period 
on  garrison  duty. 

While  I  was  waiting  I  was  made  a  lieutenant,  and 
Shaftoe  became  a  sergeant  under  me.  It  seemed  a  jest 
to  me  that  this  man,  who  knew  twenty  times  as  much 
about  war  as  I,  should  be  under  my  command;  but  he 


288  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

was  kind  enough  to  say  that  I  was  as  good  as  the  average 
lieutenant. 

I  was  informed  shortly  after  that  I  was  to  keep  the 
last  night  watch  over  a  deserter  who  was  to  be  hanged 
the  next  day.  It  was  a  duty  that  had  none  of  the  flush 
and  glory  of  war,  and  though  I  would  have  chosen  any- 
thing else  in  preference,  I  knew  too  much  to  protest. 

The  quarters  of  the  condemned  man  were  on  a 
skirt  of  the  city,  where  the  fringe  of  houses  became 
thin  and  the  tents  of  the  camp  rose  in  lines  in  the  dark- 
ness like  white  ghosts.  The  deserter  had  been  placed 
in  a  tent  alone,  and,  stationing  my  guard  at  the  entrance 
and  around  it,  I  walked  back  and  forth,  often  looking 
from  the  hillside  upon  the  city  which  lay  almost  at  my 
feet,  in  all  its  armour,  like  a  mailed  knight  of  old. 

It  was  a  warm  spring  night  like  that  other  warm 
spring  night  at  Shiloh,  now  more  than  a  year  gone, 
when  the  Southern  army  rose  out  of  the  darkness  like 
an  apparition,  and  naturally  my  mind  went  back  to  the 
battle.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  object  for  which  my 
comrades  and  I  had  fought  was  even  more  distant  now 
than  then.  Paraphrasing  an  old  saying,  I  said  to  myself 
that  much  blood  had  flowed  under  the  bridge  since 
Shiloh,  but  its  flowing  had  been  to  no  purpose,  so  far 
as  I  could  see. 

The  city  was  unrolled  like  a  picture  at  my  feet;  the 
gleam  of  white  in  the  darkness  came  from  the  marble  of 
the  Capitol  and  the  cloth  walls  of  tents;  a  light  shining 
through  the  foliage  marked  the  White  House,  and  the 
sombre  shapes,  almost  as  dark  as  the  darkness,  told 
where  stood  the  other  buildings  of  the  Government. 
Some  built-up  street  showed  dimly,  but  everywhere, 
in  the  city  and  around  it,  dominating  all  things,  burned 
the  fires  of  the  army.  A  vast  circle  of  little  flames 
sprang  from  forts,  hospitals,  and  camp  fires,  and  their 
light  rising  high  formed  a  luminous  cloud  which  floated 
over  the  capital  and  inclosed  it  in  a  rosy  mist.     But  I 


A  MAN  OF  HEART  289 

knew  that  beneath  that  mist  was  the  unseen  flash 
of  many  bayonets,  now  furnishing  the  chief  light  for 
the  peaceful  capital  of  Jefferson. 

The  night  was  silent,  yet  not  strangely  so;  the  noisy 
period  of  the  war,  the  time  for  loud  talking  and  the 
rattling  of  unused  arms,  had  passed,  and  men  fought, 
suffered,  and  waited,  without  tumult.  I  heard  distinct- 
ly my  own  footsteps  as  I  walked  up  and  down,  and  pres- 
ently another's,  faint  and  far  away,  but  approaching. 
The  figure  of  a  man  showed  dimly  through  the  darkness, 
and  then  advanced  more  clearly  into  outline.  It  was 
the  clergyman,  come  to  pay  the  last  visit  of  consolation 
to  the  condemned — tall,  old,  and  kindly.  I  passed  him 
into  the  tent  and  waited  without. 

The  old  man  remained  an  hour  inside,  and  when  he 
came  out  stopped  a  moment  with  me. 

"  A  solemn  duty  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  could  have  wished  anything  else." 

"  More  folly  than  guilt,"  continued  the  clergyman, 
pointing  to  the  tent. 

I  thought  it  very  likely,  but  the  military  law  in 
such  cases  was  stern  and  of  age-long  use.  It  was  ap- 
proved by  none  more  than  by  soldiers,  and  I  merely 
nodded. 

"  Only  a  boy,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"  But  a  boy  who  is  old  enough  to  fight  must  know 
the  laws  of  war,"  I  replied. 

The  clergyman  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  he  said: 

"  Seems  to  have  been  a  case  of  homesickness." 

"  There  have  been  too  many  such.  Examples  must 
be  made." 

He  did  not  reply,  and,  sighing  once,  walked  away 
in  the  darkness. 

I  resumed  my  walk,  but  my  mind  returned  pres- 
ently to  the  words  of  the  clergyman  and  the  sympathy 
of  his  manner.     Examples  were  needed,  undoubtedly; 


290  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

but  if  the  deserter  was  only  a  boy,  and  homesickness 
had  been  the  cause  of  his  fall,  his  fate  was  hard.  Yet 
the  laxity  toward  such  offences  had  been  already  too 
great.  I  felt  much  pity  for  the  boy,  but  I  knew  that 
I  could  not  alter  his  sentence. 

"  Is  the  man  asleep  ?  "  I  asked  presently  of  one  of 
the  soldiers  who  stood  at  the  tent  flap. 

"  He  must  be;  he  has  not  stirred  in  an  hour." 

A  candle  was  burning  in  the  tent  and  its  dim  light 
fell  on  the  ground  without,  but  the  figure  of  the  de- 
serter inside  was  not  revealed.  I  listened  a  little  while, 
and  not  hearing  him  move,  walked  on.  But  I  came 
back  presently  and  entered  the  tent.  The  deserter  was 
on  my  mind. 

The  candle  rested  on  an  empty  box,  but  its  light 
was  so  feeble  that  I  stood  for  a  few  moments,  until  my 
eyes  grew  strong  enough  for  the  dusk. 

The  deserter  was  sitting  on  another  box,  his  head 
sunk  between  his  shoulders,  his  chin  fallen  low,  his 
whole  form  crushed,  and  his  face  hopeless;  nothing 
moved  except  his  fingers,  which  opened  and  shut  auto- 
matically against  the  palms  of  his  hands.  He  seemed  to 
me  a  sitting  figure  of  blank  and  wordless  despair  He 
was  not  more  than  eighteen  years  old. 

The  boy  moved  slightly  and  turned  his  vacant  gaze 
upon  me.  He  stared  at  the  intruder,  not  as  if  I  were  a 
man,  but  as  he  would  have  stared  at  a  stone  wall,  and 
with  as  little  interest.  He  neither  spoke  nor  made 
further  movement. 

He  was  an  ordinary  farm  lad;  nothing  bad  in  his 
face,  but  one  who  knew  that  he  was  going  to  die,  and, 
knowing  it,  was  dying  in  advance — a  boy  who  had  in- 
vited death  by  thoughtlessness. 

Pity  rose  up  in  my  soul.  The  lad's  silence,  his 
submission,  his  fearful  gaze,  as  if  he  expected  to  see 
Death  approaching  him  in  corporeal  and  visible  form,  a 
genuine  old  man  with  the  scythe,  impressed  me  with 


A  MAN  OF  HEART  291 

the  terrors  of  an  execution  in  such  a  ease  and  the  piti- 
less demands  of  war.  Here  was  a  boy  who  was  neither 
a  thief  nor  a  coward;  who,  with  comrades  to  right  and 
left,  and  the  battle  flame  before,  would  be  as  brave  as 
any;  who  was  as  good  as  other  boys;  who  loved  his 
father  and  mother,  and  whose  fault  had  been  merely 
homesickness,  certainly  not  in  itself  a  crime,  and  often 
at  other  times  esteemed  a  merit  and  the  mark  of  a  true 
heart.  He  was  to  be  made  a  sacrifice  for  a  huge 
machine,  but  how  was  he  ever  to  be  paid  back?  The 
thought  troubled  me,  and  while  trying  to  find  a  solution 
I  stared  unconsciously  into  the  prisoner's  eyes,  which 
were  looking  at  me  so  vacantly. 

Then  I  remembered  myself,  and,  fearing  that  my 
presence  there  was  an  insult  to  the  boy's  dumb  fear,  I 
went  outside,  glad  to  feel  the  cool  night  air  on  my  face 
again. 

The  night  advanced,  and  many  of  the  lights  died, 
but  enough  still  burned  to  stud  the  city  as  if  with  stars. 
It  was  just  midnight,  when  I  heard  an  approaching 
footstep  again,  and  a  tall,  ungainly  man,  walking  awk- 
wardly, came  to  the  tent. 

"  I  wish  to  talk  to  the  deserter,"  he  said. 

I  was  about  to  demand  his  authority,  but,  seeing  his 
face  and  melancholy  eyes,  took  him  into  the  tent  with- 
out a  word,  and  withdrew. 

I  waited  a  long  time,  hearing  occasionally  the  low 
murmur  of  voices  inside,  but  never  a  loud  tone. 
Though  more  of  the  lights  in  tent  and  hospital  had 
vanished,  the  night  was  not  dark.  The  rosy  mist  of  the 
fires  below,  thin  but  luminous,  still  floated  over  the 
city;  the  river,  a  long  sinuous  band  of  burnished  silver, 
coiled  among  the  hills;  and  stone  and  marble  walls  shed 
a  white  light. 

"  Walk  a  little  with  me,  lieutenant.  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you." 

The  tall  man  had  come  out  of  the  tent,  and  I  saluted 


292  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

with  deep  respect.  Instructing  my  men  to  keep  a  good 
watch,  I  walked  away  with  my  visitor  in  the  indicated 
path. 

"  You  will  return  him  to  his  regiment  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  tell  him  that  a  double  obligation  to  be  a  good 
and  true  soldier  now  rests  upon  him,"  said  the  tall  man, 
pointing  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  tent  in  which  the 
deserter  sat. 

"  But  the  execution!  "  I  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"  There  will  be  no  execution." 

"  But  he  is  a  deserter;  it  is  the  law  of  war  and  a 
necessity." 

"  He  is  a  deserter,  and  it  is  the  law  of  war,  but  it  is 
not  a  necessity;  no  such  execution  shall  occur  while 
I  am  President.    I  will  pardon  every  offender.    Look!  " 

He  pointed  to  the  city  that  lay  below  and  the  wide 
sweep  of  lights  gleaming  from  hospital  and  tent. 

"  Can  not  we  kill  enough  men  on  the  battlefield?  " 
he  continued,  the  deep,  melancholy  eyes  lighting  up. 
"  The  hospitals  there  are  full  of  the  wounded;  the  dead 
are  taken  out  every  day,  and  the  tents  are  crowded  with 
men  getting  ready  to  furnish  more  dead  and  wounded. 
It  is  my  business  to  make  war  by  wholesale,  and  I  shall 
not  turn  aside  from  it  to  kill  a  few  poor  lads  of  our  own 
army  in  Washington." 

Then  we  were  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  I  watched 
the  face  of  that  strange  man  which  seemed  to  have  in 
it  some  of  the  prophetic  light  possessed  by  the  seers  and 
fearless  preachers  of  the  Western  woods.  Then  the 
eyes  began  to  twinkle,  and  another  phase  of  his  char- 
acter appeared. 

"  You  are  a  Kentuckian?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  thought  so.  One  can  not  mistake  that  ac- 
cent, the  haughty  snubbing  of  the  poor  little  letter 
'  r/  and  the  general  air  of  a  speaking  acquaintance 
with  God." 


A  MAN  OP  HEART  293 

"  In  Kentucky  we  are  as  good  as  anybody,  and  that 
accounts  for  our  manner." 

"I  do  not  criticise  it;  how  could  I?  I  am  a  Ken- 
tuckian  by  birth  and  family  stock,  and  so  is  Davis,  who 
is  now  at  the  head  of  those  down  there." 

He  waved  his  hands  toward  the  South. 

"  The  Kentuckian  is  always  a  problem  to  me,"  he 
continued,  "  and  none  the  less  so  because  I  am  one  my- 
self; sometimes  I  think  he  is  not  an  American  at  all,  but 
just  a  Kentuckian,  which  perhaps  includes  the  Ameri- 
can character,  but  also  gives  something  above  and  be- 
yond. I  do  not  know  whether  to  consider  his  State  a 
projection  of  the  North  into  the  South,  or  a  projection 
of  the  South  into  the  North;  whether  to  rank  the  Ken- 
tuckians  as  Southerners  turned  Northerners,  or  North- 
erners turned  Southerners,  or  perhaps  a  compromise,  or 
a  mixture,  containing  much  of  one  and  a  little  of  the 
other,  or  much  of  the  other  and  a  little  of  the  one." 

He  stopped  and  looked  inquiringly  at  me. 

"  We  are  what  we  are,"  I  said  with  pride. 

The  President  laughed. 

"  So  are  most  other  people,"  he  continued;  "  be- 
sides, your  claim  is  not  wholly  original,  though  it  sounds 
well  enough.  Another  Kentuckian  whom  I  heard  make 
the  claim  in  almost  the  same  language  had  never  walked 
on  a  carpet  in  his  life.  He  lived  in  a  log  hut,  and  he 
could  not  read,  but  he  was  just  as  sincere  as  you,  and 
perhaps  as  much  justified.  When  he  knocks  at  the 
heavenly  gates  and  St.  Peter  asks  him  what  good  he  has 
done,  he  will  not  mention  anything,  but  say,  '  I  am 
from  Kentucky/  and  push  right  in." 

"  It  ought  to  count,"  I  said. 

The  President  laughed  again. 

.    "  You  thought  you  were  jesting  then,"  he  said,  "  but 

you  were  not.     Do  you  know  why  that  man  was  proud 

of  being  a  Kentuckian?     Do  you  know  why  all  Ken- 

tuckians  are?     It  is  not  because  Kentucky  is  the  most 


294  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

beautiful  and  most  fertile  State  in  the  Union — for  it 
is  neither;  not  because  it  has  the  most  glorious  history 
— for  it  has  not;  not  because  it  is  the  most  advanced 
and  enlightened  of  the  States — for  it  is  not,  and  you 
know  it  as  well  as  I.     Then  why?  " 

"  '  Lives  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead/  "  I  quoted. 

"  It  is  that  in  part  only,  but  when  you  get  through 
with  man's  pride  in  his  literature,  his  art,  his  good  laws, 
his  industry,  and  his  justice  to  other  people  and  him- 
self, you  find  down  at  the  bottom  the  solid  bed-rock 
upon  which  all  rests — his  pride  in  his  fighting  ability. 
I  do  not  say  that  it  ought  to  be  so,  but  it  is  so.  I  knew 
an  old  revivalist  preacher  out  in  Illinois,  a  genuinely 
good  man,  and  the  only  man  I  ever  met  who  could  really 
forgive  his  enemies;  but  if  you  were  to  intimate  to  him 
that  an  American  army  could  not  whip  an  equal  army 
of  any  other  nation,  you  would  have  him  to  fight;  yet 
he  truly  described  himself  as  a  humble  follower  of 
Christ.  That  is  the  temper  of  you  Kentuckians;  you 
are  alwa}rs  fighting,  and  in  your  hearts  you  are  proud  of 
it.  You  are  afraid  that  when  you  get  to  heaven  no 
fighting  will  be  allowed  there,  and  you  are  trying  to  get 
enough  of  it  here." 

"  Look  at  our  history,"  I  said  in  defence.  "  We  had 
to  fight  from  necessity  and  not  from  choice.  Was  not 
Kentucky  the  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground?  Even  before 
the  white  men  came  we  had  to  fight  the  Indians  for 
twenty  years;  then  we  fought  all  the  way  from  Canada 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  in  the  second  war  with  Great 
Britain,  and  then  in  more  Indian  wars  in  the  North- 
west. The  fighting  man  got  to  be  considered  the  most 
valuable  person  among  us,  and  the  feeling  has  been 
handed  on.  Besides,  we  have  it  in  our  blood,  by  fair 
inheritance:  we  are  mostly  descended  from  the  Scotch, 
and  I  have  never  read  of  anybody  who  fought  more  and 
with  more  enjoyment  than  the  Scotch.  How  could  we 
escape  the  fighting  feeling?    We  are  not  neglecting  our 


A  MAN  OF   HEART  295 

part  in  this  war,  either.  Eighty  thousand  of  us  in  the 
Northern  army,  forty  thousand  in  the  Southern;  and 
there  are  only  a  little  more  than  a  million  people  in  the 
State — men,  women,  and  children,  counting  the  blacks 
— who  don't  take  part." 

"  You  have  said  several  things  with  pride,  but  that 
last  sentence  with  more  pride  than  any  other.  You 
would  rather  be  thought  a  fool  or  a  villain  than  a 
coward." 

The  President  ceased  to  jest  and  was  silent,  the  mel- 
ancholy look  habitual  with  him  deepening.  I  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity  to  ask  him  for  active  service, 
and  he  replied  with  some  significance  that  he  thought 
the  chance  would  come  soon;  then  he  bade  me  a  father- 
ly good  night,  and  walked  away  in  the  darkness. 

I  watched  his  figure  until  it  disappeared,  and  I 
thought  that  this  strange  man  was  truly  alone  in  the 
darkness  in  more  senses  than  one.  He  seemed  to  have 
scarcely  a  friend  just  now.  All  cried  out  against  him, 
because  the  war  was  not  going  well. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 


THE    HEEALDS    OF    LEE 


I  sought  again,  but  as  before  without  success,  to 
obtain  news  of  Elinor,  and  Paul  Warner  told  me  that 
he  too  had  failed  repeatedly.  I  prepared  for  another 
effort  to  secure  a  transfer,  but  all  such  attempts  were 
set  at  naught  suddenly  by  a  great  piece  of  news. 

The  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  advancing,  and 
the  forces  of  Lee  were  invading  the  North.  The  South, 
instead  of  fighting  on  the  defensive,  instead  of  seeking 
to  protect  her  own  borders,  was  striking  straight  at  the 
heart  of  the  North,  and  striking  with  all  the  might 
of  a  strong  arm.  The  invaded  had  become  the  in- 
vader. The  march  of  Lee  would  cut  the  East  from  the 
West,  and  he  would  threaten  in  turn  the  great  cities 
of  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  and  New  York.  The  peril 
was  sudden  and  great,  and  whatever  Grant  might  do  in 
the  West  would  be  of  no  avail  if  Lee  won.  That  was 
the  palpable  and  terrible  issue  which  the  North  must 
face. 

Both  fact  and  rumour  were  the  heralds  of  Lee.  The 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia  that  he  led  seemed  invin- 
cible. It  stood  in  the  record  of  its  victories  with  the 
armies  of  Frederick  the  Great  and  Napoleon.  A  leader 
of  genius,  surrounded  by  brilliant  lieutenants,  led  brave, 
skilful,  and  enduring  men — men  who  had  grown  up  in 
the  open  air,  tall,  big-boned,  broad-chested  men,  whom 
no  hardship  could  kill  or  even  disable.  They  were 
296 


THE  HERALDS  OF  LEE  297 

Southerners  only  because  their  States  lay  farther  south 
than  those  of  the  North,  not  real  Southerners  like  the 
Spaniards  or  Italians,  but  men  who  were  accustomed  to 
a  long  and  severe  winter,  and  all  the  extremes  of  heat 
and  cold. 

Sure  and  terrible  evidences  of  Lee's  advance  had 
come  already.  The  army  of  Milroy,  in  the  Valley  of 
Virginia,  was  attacked  suddenly  by  an  overwhelming 
Southern  division  and  cut  to  pieces,  annihilated  at  a 
blow;  the  few  fugitives  who  escaped  from  the  field 
spread  the  alarm  throughout  the  North,  even  to  Phila- 
delphia and  New  York.  No  man  could  doubt,  in  the 
face  of  such  evidence. 

Cavalry  fighting  between  the  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  been  going 
on  for  some  time,  and  the  clash  of  sabres  came  over  the 
hills,  but  none  knew  Lee's  precise  intentions.  There 
were  many  points  at  which  he  could  strike,  but  neither 
our  generals  nor  our  Government  at  Washington  could 
guess  his  choice,  and  they  must  wait  in  suspense.  The 
cavalry  combats  continued,  and  then  it  became  known 
suddenly  that  Lee  had  slipped  away  from  Hooker,  that 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  larger  and  better 
equipped  than  ever  before  in  its  history,  and  more  able 
to  deliver  a  decisive  blow,  was  marching  straight  into 
the  North,  with  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  behind  it, 
and  no  barrier  in  front.  Rumour  and  fact  together  gave 
the  numbers  of  Lee's  army:  rumour  said  that  he  led 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men;  fact  put  it  at 
eighty  thousand,  veterans  all. 

Fact,  too,  brought  to  Washington  a  singular  and 
striking  incident,  in  which  many  people  saw  a  deep  sig- 
nificance, at  a  time  when  the  mind  naturally  turned  to 
omens  and  forecasts.  Before  beginning  the  northward 
march,  the  gray  and  silent  commander  of  the  Southern 
army  had  yielded  to  the  request  of  his  brilliant  cavalry 
leader,  Stuart,  to  review  his  command.     The  spectacle 


298  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

was  held  in  a  wide  plain  in  Virginia,  and  Lee  and  his 
staff  sat  on  their  horses  under  the  shade  of  an  oak  tree, 
while  the  ten  thousand  horsemen,  born  to  the  saddle 
and  incomparable  riders  long  before  the  war  began, 
led  by  Stuart  himself,  galloped  before  him,  wheeling, 
charging,  retreating,  and  executing  all  the  movements 
of  battle.  Nor  were  the  noise  and  flash  of  real  war 
absent,  for  cannon  thundered,  rifles  rattled,  and  the 
blaze  and  smoke  of  burned  gunpowder  ran  over  the 
plain.  Through  this  smoke  and  blaze,  and  to  the  song 
of  the  guns,  galloped  the  ten  thousand  wild  horsemen. 

Men  saw  in  this  mimic  battle  a  surplus  of  energy,  an 
overflow  of  enthusiasm  and  spirits,  which  would  now  be 
turned  in  full  flood  upon  the  North. 

It  was  an  age  of  telegraphs,  and  knowledge  was 
quick.  All  saw  that  the  crisis  of  the  republic  had  come. 
It  was  said  at  first  that  Washington  itself  was  about  to 
be  attacked,  but  this  fear  soon  passed.  The  capital  was 
safe  within  its  ring  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  forts  and 
fifteen  hundred  guns.  Thirty-six  thousand  good  troops 
stood  behind  these  works,  and  fifteen  thousand  more 
were  within  call.  No  army  in  existence  could  force 
such  ramparts,  so  defended. 

I  saw  that  my  private  affairs  were  likely  to  suffer  at 
such  a  time,  but  a  soldier  must  turn  his  whole  mind  to 
his  duty,  and  with  Shaftoe  I  sought  again  for  active 
service.  We  were  accepted  promptly,  and  were  sent 
northwestward  with  some  Pennsylvania  cavalry  to  look 
for  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia. 

As  we  rode,  the  whole  nation  was  in  an  agony  of 
apprehension.  The  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  that 
terrible  sword  wielded  by  the  hand  of  the  terrible 
swordsman  Lee,  had  suddenly  reproduced  itself  in  many 
places.  It  was  no  longer  one  army,  but  three,  four, 
five.  It  had  cut  to  pieces  the  Union  forces  in  the 
Valley  of  Virginia;  it  was  marching  through  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains;  it  had  been  seen  in  Maryland;  it  was 


THE   HERALDS  OF  LEE  299 

already  among  the  hills  of  Pennsylvania;  public  report 
put  it  everywhere,  and  could  give  it  a  definite  place 
nowhere.  Then  the  question  became,  "  Where,  in  fact, 
is  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia?  "  The  report  that 
Lee  was  advancing,  but  now  definite  and  confirmed 
again  and  again,  and  was  about  to  strike  his  greatest 
blow,  was  carried  instantly  to  all  the  myriad  points 
reached  by  the  electric  wire,  and  from  these  were  passed 
on  by  word  of  mouth  to  every  farmhouse,  however  re- 
mote; the  wires  clicked  it  off  in  New  York  and  Boston 
and  St.  Louis  and  Chicago;  the  smaller  cities  heard  it  a 
minute  afterward,  and  the  next  day  they  were  talking  of 
it  in  the  towns  and  villages;  and  a  week  later  couriers 
were  carrying  it  over  the  great  plains  and  into  the  val- 
leys of  the  Eocky  Mountains. 

But  none  yet  knew  where  Lee  would  strike.  He 
was  steadily  marching  northward,  drawing  in  his  long 
lines  and  concentrating  his  army;  now  he  was  in  Mary- 
land, passing  over  the  old  field  of  Antietam,  and  Ewell, 
with  his  vanguard,  had  been  seen  among  the  Penn- 
sylvania towns.  The  Southern  army  trod  for  the  first 
time  the  soil  of  a  free  State. 

The  Army  of  the  Potomac  knew  its  enemy,  and, 
beaten  army  though  it  had  been  so  often,  moved  on 
again  to  the  conflict,  courage  unshaken  and  hope  flam- 
ing anew,  detaching  three  corps  to  cover  Washington, 
and  marching  with  the  other  seven  on  a  line  almost 
parallel  with  its  foe.  The  two  armies  were  now  passing 
down  the  sides  of  a  triangle,  with  some  point  as  yet  un- 
known to  be  their  place  of  meeting.  The  Northern 
army  crossed  the  Potomac  on  bridges  of  boats  and 
marched  on,  now  but  forty  miles  from  its  Southern  ene- 
my, watchful,  its  scouts  everywhere,  and  preparing  itself 
daily  for  the  struggle  that  it  knew  must  be.  The  time 
was  the  close  of  June  and  rainy,  heavy  storms  coming 
now  and  then  and  deluging  the  earth.  The  roads  were 
deep  in  mud,  warm  vapours  hung  over  the  land,  and  the 
20 


300  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

air  was  close  and  sultry.  The  vegetation,  thriving  under 
the  rain,  was  thick  and  heavy,  and  the  earth  put  on  its 
deepest  green.  But  through  storms  and  over  green  grass 
alike  the  two  foes  marched,  watching,  silent,  defiant,  two 
hundred  thousand  men  expecting  battle,  and  eager  for 
it;  now  one,  now  the  other  disappearing  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  those  who  followed  so  eagerly  their  movements. 
Swarms  of  cavalry  and  skirmishers  hung  upon  the 
flanks  of  each,  meeting  in  frequent  combats,  always 
fierce,  and  sometimes  rising  in  numbers  to  the  dignity 
of  important  battles.  The  cavalry  of  the  North  held  its 
own  for  the  first  time  with  the  lifelong  riders  of  the 
South,  and  the  tales  of  these  sanguinary  struggles,  as 
the  wires  clicked  them  off,  prepared  the  minds  of  men 
for  the  final  test  by  the  two  armies  that  marched  on  and 
seemed  not  to  regard  the  incessant  side  play  of  the  wild 
horsemen  who  clung  on  their  skirts  like  a  fringe. 

But  I  was  not  thinking  so  much  of  the  waiting 
nation,  as  I  galloped  northward  with  my  new  com- 
mander, as  I  was  of  Elinor  in  Bichmond,  and  those 
whose  life  touched  mine.  The  memory  of  a  woman's 
face,  and  that  long,  happy  ride  over  the  mountains, 
were  oftenest  with  me.  One  can  rarely  sink  one's  own 
personal  hopes  and  fears  into  those  of  the  nation. 

We  were  approaching  Pennsylvania,  and  soon  we 
entered  this  State  of  a  comfortable  population.  I  no- 
ticed with  deep  interest  the  signs  of  thrift  and  wealth: 
the  rich  soil,  the  solid  houses,  the  huge  barns,  the  fat 
cattle;  a  country  hitherto  sheltered,  men  going  on  with 
their  work  as  if  there  were  no  war,  everything  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  battle-worn  and  battle-torn  South, 
nearly  every  square  mile  of  which  had  already  felt  the 
tramp  of  armies.  I  appreciated  more  than  ever  the  dif- 
ference in  resources  and  the  gigantic  character  of  the 
task  that  the  South,  with  so  little  thought  of  its  magni- 
tude, had  set  herself. 

The  alarm  of  the  people  increased  as  we  rode  farther 


THE  HERALDS  OF  LEE  301 

north.  Beyond  a  doubt  the  Southern  troops  were  in 
Pennsylvania,  for  now  we  met  men  who  had  seen  them, 
who  told  of  their  squadrons,  their  passage  through  this 
or  that  town,  how  they  crossed  rivers  and  mountains, 
and  had  yet  found  nothing  to  oppose  them.  We  rode 
at  last  into  Harrisburg,  the  capital  of  the  State,  where 
we  found  excitement  and  confusion  supreme,  and,  look- 
ing at  the  opposite  shore  of  the  river,  I  saw  there  horse- 
men, whose  easy  swing  and  graceful  seat  betokened  the 
cavalry  of  the  South. 

"It's  Ewell's  command,"  said  Shaftoe.  "We'll 
have  an  argument  with  'em — but  later,  not  here." 

Ewell's  men  contented  themselves  with  a  look  at 
Harrisburg,  and  then  turned  back  to  the  south  to  join 
the  main  army  under  Lee,  apparently  content  to  return 
and  take  the  city  at  their  leisure. 

The  command  to  which  we  belonged  also  turned 
southward. 

"  I  take  it  that  we're  scouts  and  skirmishers  on  a 
large  scale,"  said  the  regular. 

"  It  suits  me  well  enough,"  I  replied. 

"  Me  too,"  said  Shaftoe. 

We  entered  the  next  day  a  country  of  deep,  rich  soil, 
broken  by  steep,  high,  and  rocky  ridges,  and  great 
masses  of  rock  that  looked  like  ruined  castles  or  fan- 
tastic pyramids;  at  the  foot  of  these  stone  upheavals 
flowed  small,  swift  streams  of  clear  water,  and  in  the 
valleys  were  wheat  fields  turning  golden  under  the  sun. 
The  natural  fortresses  and  the  rich  fields  below  formed 
a  striking  contrast,  the  fertility  and  sternness  of  Nature 
showing  side  by  side.  But  it  was  a  neat  and  thrifty 
land  of  brick  houses  and  stone  fences  and  prosperous 
farmer  people,  all  built  on  the  square  and  solid  plan. 

The  day  was  more  pleasant  than  usual;  the  rain  was 
not  falling  and  the  ground  was  drying  up;  a  west  wind 
blew  the  vapours  away,  and  the  soldiers  felt  brisk  and 
strong.     We  rode  to  the  summit  of  one  of  the  lower 


302  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

ridges,  and  I  saw  a  fine  little  town  outspread  below — a 
town  of  red-brick  houses,  with  a  dome  or  a  cupola  shin- 
ing here  and  there  in  the  sun,  and  wheat  fields  on  its 
outskirts.  Great,  gaunt  crags  of  gray  stone  rose  up 
more  than  two  hundred  feet  from  some  of  the  hills 
about,  and  a  stream  near  by  flowed  between  steep  banks, 
in  places  almost  as  high;  in  the  side  of  one  hill  frowned 
a  huge  gash  like  a  lion's  mouth. 

"  What  town  is  that?  "  I  asked  of  the  man  by  my 
side,  a  Pennsylvanian. 

"  Gettysburg." 

"  Gettysburg!     I  never  heard  of  it." 

It  lay  below  us,  asleep  in  the  sunshine,  without  a 
history,  and  content. 

But  I  gazed  little  at  this  unknown  town  of  Gettys- 
burg, which  looked  to  me  like  so  many  of  its  fellows  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  not  worthy  of  special  attention  at 
this  time.  No  feature  of  it  was  impressed  upon  me, 
and  it  was  not  in  my  thoughts  that  I  would  ever  see  it 
again.  A  few  minutes  later  our  commander  turned 
once  more  to  the  south,  mid-morning  not  yet  having 
come.  But  our  long  ride  and  scout  ended  an  hour 
afterward,  when  we  met  an  advance  guard  of  more  than 
four  thousand  Northern  troops,  under  Buford,  march- 
ing toward  Gettysburg. 

"  They'll  take  us  with  them,"  said  Shaftoe,  with 
sure  instinct  or  judgment. 

And  so  they  did;  the  little  command  was  merged  at 
once  into  the  larger,  and  we  returned  on  our  own  trail 
toward  the  forgotten  little  town  that  we  had  left  an 
hour  ago. 

"  I'm  thinking  that  we  may  have  a  skirmish  if  we 
march  far  enough — that  is,  if  the  Johnny  Eebs  will  wait 
for  us,"  said  Shaftoe  reflectively,  and  then  he  added, 
"  They've  a  habit  of  waiting  for  us  when  they're 
wanted." 

The  sun  shone  in  splendour,  gilding  stony  crags 


THE  HERALDS  OP  LEE  303 

■and  dark  oak  forests,  and  falling  like  golden  gauze 
across  the  green  of  meadow  and  foliage;  the  last  vapour 
disappeared,  the  dews  of  recent  rains  dried  up,  and  the 
grass  nodded  to  the  gentle  west  wind.  My  spirits  were 
high;  the  old  Kentucky  blood  in  my  veins  was  singing; 
I  liked  this  swift  campaigning,  the  ride  over  hill  and 
through  forest,  with  the  air  rushing  past.  We  would 
reach  Gettysburg  before  noon,  rest  and  eat  there,  and 
then  we  would  ride  on  in  search  of  the  main  body  of  the 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  with  a  great  battle  to  fol- 
low, somewhere  within  a  week  or  two. 

The  advance  was  without  talk.  I  noted  this  fact.  I 
noted,  too,  how  different  in  manner  the  soldiers  were 
from  those  who  had  marched  to  Shiloh;  these  men  had 
become  veterans,  making  few  complaints,  enduring  their 
hardships  in  silence  because  they  knew  that  war  was 
not  a  parade;  a  rugged,  big-boned,  brown-faced,  lean- 
bodied  division  of  four  thousand  or  more,  the  counter- 
part of  many  other  divisions  that  now  marched  and 
fought  for  North  and  South,  dusty  and  bedraggled,  but 
wonderfully  bold  and  skilful  at  their  trade. 

Shaftoe  caught  my  eye  as  it  ran  over  the  brigade  of 
silent  men,  and  he  understood. 

"  Yes,  Henry,"  he  said,  "  they  are  soldiers  now. 
There  ought  to  be  some  pretty  work  when  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  and  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  meet." 

I  was  sure  that  the  death  roll  would  be  large 
enough. 

The  sun  beat  down  on  the  toiling  brigade,  and  the 
air  grew  close  and  heavy  once  more,  but  no  murmur 
arose.  I  heard  only  the  clank  of  arms,  the  straining  of 
gear,  the  beat  of  horses'  hoofs,  and  the  breathing  of  four 
thousand  men.  The  road  was  deep  in  mud  and  hard 
for  travel.     Yet  there  was  no  murmur. 

We  were  approaching  Gettysburg  again,  and  through 
the  clefts  between  the  hills  we  saw  the  spires  and  cupo- 
las of  the  town  shining  in  the  sun.     Shaftoe,  on  my 


304  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

right,  was  examining  the  ground  with  a  practised  eye; 
the  veteran's  gaze  passed  over  the  rugged  slopes  of 
Little  Eound  Top,  Cemetery  Hill  and  Seminary  Ridge; 
followed  the  steep  and  lofty  banks  of  Rock  Creek;  all  a 
little  wilderness  of  hill  and  valley,  of  gray-stone  for- 
tresses built  by  Nature,  darkened  here  and  there  with 
patches  of  knotty  oaks,  while  farther  on  the  gold  of  the 
wheat  fields  refreshed  the  eye.  Yet  it  looked  peaceful 
then;  the  sombre  hills,  upon  which  the  shadows  lay  de- 
spite the  risen  sun,  the  oak  groves  hanging  like  black 
patches  on  the  slopes,  and  the  town  beyond  glittering 
redly  in  the  brilliant  day.  There  was  majesty  in  those 
silent  hills,  the  creek  flowing  silently  in  its  deep  ravine, 
and  the  quiet  old  town  enjoying  another  day  in  its  mo- 
notonous and  unknown  existence. 

A  scout  on  horseback  galloped  up,  a  trumpet  blew, 
arms  rattled,  and  our  four  thousand  formed  in  closer 
rank.  Some  one  else  was  approaching  the  town,  com- 
ing from  the  other  side,  and  seeking  its  hospitality, 
though  not  likely  to  be  so  welcome.  It  was  a  body  of 
Southern  troops,  scouting  or  foraging,  and  one  of  those 
chance  meetings  of  cavalry  now  so  frequent  seemed 
about  to  occur. 

I  was  sorry;  it  disturbed  the  morning  of  a  beautiful 
day,  and  I  wished  to  continue  the  search  for  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia. 

The  sound  of  two  or  three  distant  rifle  shots  came 
vaguely,  and  then  an  officer  announced  that  there  would 
be  no  fight,  the  Southerners,  who  were  inferior  in  force, 
having  retired.  We  resumed  our  march  and  entered 
Gettysburg. 

The  townspeople,  a  solid,  strong  race,  received  us 
with  joy,  having  been  somewhat  surprised  at  the  ap- 
proach of  rival  guests  from  opposite  sides,  but  dis- 
posed to  give  due  credit  for  courtesy  to  the  Southerners 
who  had  reached  their  suburbs  in  a  search  for  shoes,  so 
it  was  now  said,  which  would  indicate  that  these  same 


THE  HERALDS  OF   LEE  305 

men  were  expecting  long  marches.  There  was  nothing 
picturesque  in  their  projected  invasion  of  Gettysburg; 
it  was  merely  a  commercial  affair;  the  shoes  were  to  he 
paid  for,  and  that,  no  doubt,  would  have  been  the 
end  of  it,  had  not  chance  brought  Buford  and  his  men 
before  the  bargain  could  be  begun — an  historical  in- 
terruption. 

But  these  people  of  Gettysburg  were  intensely  loyal 
to  the  Union  and  glad  to  see  their  own,  whom  they  made 
welcome  by  both  word  and  deed,  offering  to  us  what  the 
town  afforded.  There  the  division  lingered,  much  to 
my  surprise,  as  I  could  see  no  reason  why  so  much  time 
should  be  passed  in  such  an  unimportant  town,  when 
the  weather  was  good  for  marching,  and  the  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  was  to  be  found. 

We  ate  dinner,  waited  through  all  the  afternoon, 
asking  no  questions,  but  waiting.  The  shadows  came 
in  the  west  and  the  sun  went  down,  dyeing  the  sombre 
hills  and  crags  a  deep  red  as  it  went,  and  then  leaving 
them  in  darkness.  The  pickets  were  set  around  the 
town  and  along  all  the  roads  that  centred  there.  Scout- 
ing parties  were  sent  out  to  watch  the  retreating  South- 
erners, for  one  could  never  tell  what  those  amazing 
gentlemen  might  do.  A  strong  detachment  was  posted 
in  the  country  north  of  the  town,  another  to  the  west, 
and  those  of  the  division  not  actually  on  duty  were  free 
to  seek  their  rest.  Nearly  all  were  untroubled,  save  the 
uneasy  general,  whose  uneasiness  was  wisdom. 

But  the  people  of  the  town  stayed  up  late  that  night; 
it  had  not  been  a  habit  with  them  to  entertain  armies. 
Moreover,  their  guests  would  probably  depart  the  next 
day,  and  therefore  should  be  treated  well  during  their 
brief  stay,  as  if  welcome — as  they  truly  were.  It  was 
the  small  part  in  the  war  that  Gettysburg  owed,  and  she 
would  discharge  the  debt,  throwing  in  as  much  as  she 
could  for  good  count  and  interest. 

That  same  night  the  garrulous  wires  were  clicking. 


306  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Two  armies  were  lost,  and  the  man  who  could  find  them 
would  be  great  among  his  fellows.  Lee  was  near  a  little 
Pennsylvania  town  called  Gettysburg,  and  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  under  Meade,  who  had  suddenly  replaced 
Hooker,  after  the  Northern  fashion  of  changing  gener- 
als at  a  critical  moment,  was  scattered  somewhere  to  the 
south  and  east  of  that  town.  But  these  were  merely 
vague  statements.  People  wanted  more  exact  infor- 
mation. There  was  a  great  hunting  up  and  examina- 
tion of  old  maps,  from  New  York  and  Philadelphia  to 
villages  in  Maine  and  Minnesota,  and  as  the  seekers 
traced  roads  with  forefingers,  some  inquired  about  this 
little  town  of  Gettysburg,  of  which  they  had  heard  for 
the  first  time.  Still  it  attracted  only  trifling  interest, 
and  the  few  who  noticed  it  merely  put  it  down  as  one 
of  those  quiet  places  which  achieve  a  twelve  hours'  fame 
as  a  way  station  of  an  army,  and  then  are  forgotten. 

These  maps,  which  could  tell  them  nothing,  were 
shut  up  in  disgust  long  before  the  night  was  over,  and 
though  the  wires  still  clicked  volubly,  carrying  ques- 
tions and  unsatisfactory  answers,  the  wiser  concluded 
that  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed  and  wait  for  another  day's 
reports  of  skirmishes  and  cavalry  combats,  indecisive 
and  signifying  nothing,  hoping  that  some  time  or  other 
definite  news  would  come  out  of  this  cloudland. 

Shaftoe  and  I  were  not  on  duty,  and  soldierly  wis- 
dom told  us  that  the  proper  thing  to  do  after  a  long 
day's  work  was  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  tired;  but 
neither  of  us  felt  like  closing  his  eyes.  I  found  fault 
with  my  wakefulness,  but  it  was  in  the  air  and  I  could 
not  help  it.  The  night  was  close  and  hot,  and  we 
wandered  through  the  little  city,  watching  the  lights 
that  burned  in  nearly  every  window.  The  solid,  sober 
population,  still  appreciating  the  visit,  kept  awake  to 
see  its  guests. 

Camp  fires  shone  redly  on  three  sides  of  the  town, 
but  the  hills  were  unlighted.     I  looked  up  at  the  som- 


THE  HERALDS  OP  LEE  307 

bre  ridges,  the  masses  of  craggy  gray  stone,  and  the 
dwarfed  and  gnarled  oak  groves.  The  moonlight  fell 
upon  them  presently  and  traced  fantastic  shapes  over 
rock  and  tree,  earth  and  stream.  The  likeness  of  the 
hills  to  ancient  castles  grew  stronger,  and  a  moonbeam 
across  some  streak  of  reddish  stone  shone  like  a  light  at 
a  window. 

"  This  is  the  North,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  Henry,"  replied  Shaftoe,  "  and  it's  a  long  way 
from  here  to  Shiloh.  The  war  swings  over  a  wide  cir- 
cuit." 

We  entered  presently  a  little  hotel,  in  which  several 
men  of  the  town  were  deciding  the  location  and  fate 
of  the  battle  that  was  to  be,  gravely  assisting  their  delib- 
erations with  smoke  and  something  to  drink.  We  sat 
down  at  one  side  and  took  no  part  in  the  talk,  listening 
with  the  amusement  and  vast  superiority  that  soldiers 
feel  in  the  presence  of  civilians  who  discuss  soldierly 
matters.  One  civilian,  for  the  honour  of  the  army, 
offered  the  two  soldiers  beer,  a  liquid  which  I  had  sel- 
dom tasted,  thinking  it  bitter  and  bad.  But  I  drank  a 
little  to  show  that  there  was  good  feeling,  and  then  I 
leaned  back  with  my  head  against  the  wall. 

"  I  tell  you  the  battle  will  be  fought  there  at  Harris- 
burg,"  said  a  fat  citizen,  smiting  the  capital  with  a 
long  forefinger. 

«  Why?  " 

"  It's  the  capital  of  the  State,  and  of  course  the 
rebels  will  try  to  take  it — moral  effect,  you  know.  We 
defend,  and  there  is  a  battle." 

"Nonsense!  Why  should  the  rebels  waste  them- 
selves on  a  little  place  like  Harrisburg?  Lee  is  too 
smart  for  that;  Philadelphia  is  his  size.  The  big  battle 
will  be  fought  there,  sure." 

The  military  campaign  across  the  old  map  became 
spirited  and  soon  rose  to  the  dignity  of  pins.  A  big, 
black-headed  pin  represented  Lee  and  another  Meade, 


308  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

but  wherever  they  were  stuck  there  they  abode  but 
little,  moving  on  to  new  places  and  performing  strange 
evolutions  not  described  in  the  technical  books.  Each 
had  his  opinion  as  to  the  place  of  battle,  all  selecting  a 
spot,  and  all  different,  but  never  a  one  chose  Gettysburg. 
Failing  to  agree,  they  appealed  at  last  to  us  for  a  deci- 
sion, but  we  said  we  did  not  know,  and  rising,  walked 
out  again  into  the  air. 

"  It  is  time  for  us  to  go  home,"  said  some  of  the 
men  following  us. 

I  vaguely  heard  them  making  plans  for  to-morrow's 
work  when  the  soldiers  were  gone;  one  on  a  stone 
fence,  another  on  a  barn,  and  a  third  on  something  else. 

"  How  quiet  it  is  to-night!  "  I  said  at  length. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Shaftoe;  "  sleepy  town,  sleepy  night. 
Everybody  is  going  to  sleep  that  can,  and  those  that 
can't,  wish  they  could.  As  we  can,  it's  not  worth  while 
to  waste  more  time  awake." 

I  looked  up  once  more  at  the  hills  now  turning  to 
silver  in  the  moonlight,  and  then  went  away  with  Shaf- 
toe to  our  quarters,  where  I  slept  well. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 


THE     PRICE     OF     SHOES 


I  arose  early  the  next  morning  and  saw  the  dawn 
of  a  close,  heavy  day,  the  hot,  sticky  air  oppressing 
lungs  and  brain  alike.  Broad,  dark  clouds  hung  over 
the  long  line  of  South  Mountain,  which  shut  out  the 
western  horizon  like  a  wall.  Scattered  rays  of  the  ris- 
ing sun  shot  through  the  mists  and  vapours,  and  fell 
in  beams  of  light  across  the  town  of  Gettysburg  and 
the  sombre  hills  beyond.  The  walls  of  the  houses 
shed  damp  heat. 

"  Only  three  days  to  the  Fourth  of  July,"  I  said  to 
Shaftoe.  . 

"  Yes,  Henry,"  he  replied;  "  and  I  wonder  how 
many  more  Fourths  of  July  this  country  will  have?  " 

I  glanced  quickly  at  him,  but  Shaftoe  changed  in  a 
moment  to  his  customary  cheerful  manner. 

"  To  breakfast!  "  said  he  in  light  tones.  "  There  is 
one  thing  that  you  must  learn  to  do  in  war:  always  get 
your  meals — regular  if  you  can,  irregular  if  you  must. 
The  same  rule  holds  in  peace,  so  I  guess  it  will  stand 
acknowledged  by  all  men  good  and  true." 

The  sun  swung  slowly  up,  its  rays  fighting  a  way 
through  the  resisting  clouds  which  still  lent  a  dark  gray 
tinge  to  the  sky.  They  hung  over  South  Mountain  in 
close  columns,  and  beneath  them  the  line  of  the  ridge 
looked  sharp  and  threatening. 

309 


310  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

The  minuteness  of  preparations  begun  the  day  be- 
fore, and  carried  on  through  the  night,  was  continued, 
the  officers  permitting  no  stop  or  slackening.  More 
cavalry  were  dismounted  and  posted  along  the  slopes 
of  the  creek  called  Willoughby  Eun,  some  in  ambush, 
Shaftoe  and  I  among  them.  Others  were  placed  fifty 
yards  behind  us  in  an  unfinished  railroad  cut,  and 
behind  these  artillery.  The  four  thousand  two  hun- 
dred men  of  Buford's  command  were  falling  into  the 
places  assigned  to  them  by  this  able  and  far-seeing 
leader,  who  was  executing  plans  thought  out  the  night 
before,  the  soldiers  themselves  knowing  nothing,  but 
going  to  their  work  with  the  silent  obedience  that  the 
war  had  taught  them. 

"  I  didn't  think  the  Southerners  would  return,"  I 
said;  "  those  here  yesterday  were  too  few  to  fight  us." 

"  Maybe  one  of  the  rebels  has  gone  back  for  his 
brother,"  replied  Shaftoe. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  I  guess  he  wants  a  pair  of  shoes,"  said  some  one, 
referring  to  the  reported  cause  of  the  first  Southern 
visit  to  Gettysburg. 

"  Then  we'll  try  to  fit  him,"  said  another,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  It  takes  a  mighty  good  shoemaker  to  give  the 
rebel  an  exact  fit,"  said  Shaftoe,  shaking  his  head. 

These  men — old  soldiers  they  were  now,  veterans  of 
thirty  battles  and  a  hundred  skirmishes,  though  few 
were  out  of  their  twenties,  and  some  had  not  yet  reached 
them — were  calm  and  cheerful,  not  seeking  to  settle  the 
future  before  its  time.  They  knew  perfectly  well  that 
they  might  not  live  more  than  a  few  hours  longer, 
though  the  fact  was  not  present  to  their  minds,  long 
knowledge  having  made  it  stale,  but  if  they  had  con- 
sidered the  question  it  would  not  have  troubled  them; 
it  was  not  important. 

"  Look  at  that  flash,"  said  Shaftoe,  pointing  to  the 


THE  PRICE  OF  SHOES  311 

northwest  and  far  out  on  the  Cashtown  road,  one  of 
the  many  roads  that  met  or  crossed  at  Gettysburg. 

"  What  seest  thou,  Sister  Anna?  "  I  asked. 

"  Something  much  more  dangerous  than  Blue- 
beard," said  Shaftoe;  "  that  little  flash  came  from  a 
brilliant  sunbeam  striking  on  a  bayonet.  The  bayonet 
belongs  to  one  of  a  body  of  marching  men,  and  those 
marching  men  are  the  Southern  troops  coming  to  hold  a 
debate  with  us." 

"  We  can  agree  on  a  topic,"  I  said. 

"  But  we  can't  tell  who'll  have  the  better  argu- 
ments," replied  Shaftoe. 

The  flash  of  steel  reappeared,  but  closer  to  Gettys- 
burg, and  then  another,  and  then  a  sheaf  like  the  sun- 
light breaking  on  distant  waves.  The  flashes  doubled 
and  redoubled,  passing  from  bayonet  tip  to  tip,  and  the 
men  and  horses  came  from  the  gray  wall  of  the  horizon; 
they  advanced  and  their  figures  grew  more  distinct; 
other  lines  of  men  stepped  out  of  the  gray  wall  and  fol- 
lowed their  leaders  with  regular  tread. 

"  A  heavy  column — much  heavier  than  ours,"  said 
Shaftoe. 

It  seemed  that  the  rebel  had  in  truth  gone  back  for 
his  brother,  and  that  he  was  one  of  a  large  family. 

Some  of  the  cavalrymen  breathed  hard;  the  horses 
pulled  at  their  reins;  the  close,  vaporous  air  infolded 
us;  all  talk  ceased,  and  we  heard  the  distant  tread  of 
the  Southern  troops  blending  with  the  faint  rumble  of 
their  artillery.  A  rifle  cracked,  and  a  little  puff  of 
smoke,  tinted  blue  in  the  cloudy  air,  rose  among  some 
trees  beside  the  road. 

"A  skirmisher!  Snaky  devils!"  said  Shaftoe. 
"  Listen;  there  goes  one  of  ours,  too!  " 

An  answering  rifle  shot  came  from  another  wood, 
and  up  went  the  second  puff  of  smoke.  The  echo  sped 
among  the  hills. 

"  Don't  you  wish  that  you  could  follow  all  the  bul- 


312  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

lets  fired  in  a  big  battle,  and  tell  just  what  each  one 
did?  "  asked  a  boy  of  Shaftoe. 

"  Nonsense!  Why  do  you  ask  such  fool  questions? 
I'd  rather  not  know;  I  don't  even  want  to  know  about 
my  own/'  replied  the  veteran.  "  Listen  at  those  skir- 
mishers!    There  they  go  again!  " 

A  third  and  a  fourth,  and  then  a  dozen  rifle  shots 
followed,  sounding  like  the  popping  of  firecrackers,  and 
with  nothing  to  do  of  my  own,  I  listened  for  the  sounds 
and  looked  for  the  little  spurts  of  flame  among  the  trees 
or  undergrowth,  trying,  too,  to  guess  where  the  next 
would  appear. 

I  watched  with  interest  the  play  of  flame  and  smoke 
from  the  rifle  shots,  the  little  stream  of  red  and  the  puff 
of  white  alternating  in  such  picturesque  fashion;  the 
crackling  of  the  rifle  shots,  now  increasing  fast,  was  not 
unpleasant,  being  rather  musical  at  the  distance,  and 
the  forms  of  the  skirmishers  appeared  momentarily, 
flitting  from  tree  to  tree  and  rock  to  rock  in  search  of 
cover  as  they  advanced,  and  as  active  as  if  made  of 
rubber. 

The  skirmishers  hung  in  clouds  on  either  flank  of 
the  advancing  column,  and  in  front,  covering  it  on 
three  sides,  displaying  a  pernicious  activity,  running 
and  creeping  among  the  undergrowth  and  inequalities 
of  the  earth,  their  brown,  fierce  faces  showing  at  times, 
and  then  gone  again  like  ghosts,  their  rifles  cracking  so 
often  that  the  reports  became  an  incessant  tattoo,  while 
the  little  leaden  messengers  whistled  as  they  sped 
through  the  air  on  their  mission.  The  great  column 
which  they  protected,  and  around  which  they  skir- 
mished with  such  vigour  and  activity,  advanced  steadily 
and  without  shouting.  I  saw  it  clearly  now,  a  solid 
body  of  many  thousand  men,  with  formidable  artillery, 
and  I  looked  anxiously  at  the  smaller  force  that  held  the 
Northern  lines  and  awaited  the  attack.  Still,  there  was 
no  note  of  battle  save  the  incessant  flitting  and  firing 


THE  PRICE  OF  SHOES  313 

of  the  skirmishers,  who  in  their  activity  seemed  to  be 
made  of  flexible  steel,  and  as  heartless.  But  from  the 
main  body,  advancing  in  such  steady  fashion,  came  no 
cannon  or  rifle  shot. 

The  clouds  cleared  away  somewhat;  the  vapours 
were  sucked  up  by  the  sun,  and  the  blue  grew  in  the 
sky;  the  smoke  of  the  skirmishers  gathered  in  little 
white  clouds  or  drifted  off  in  patches  toward  the 
horizon. 

I  was  struck  by  the  difference  between  this  day  and 
Shiloh,  where  the  Southern  army  sprang  suddenly  out 
of  the  woods  and  darkness,  as  if  summoned  up  by  a 
magician's  hand,  and  the  battle  had  begun  in  the  flash 
of  a  moment,  while  here  it  was  a  deliberate  approach  in 
the  open  day,  with  most  of  the  waiting  combatants  look- 
ing on,  as  if  at  a  spectacle;  nor  was  this  difference  in 
manner  greater  than  the  difference  between  the  soldiers 
of  Shiloh  and  Gettysburg — the  raw,  untrained,  and 
ignorant  armies  that  fought  with  such  courage  and  en- 
durance on  the  banks  of  the  Tennessee,  and  these  grim 
veterans  who  took  their  ease  and  waited  until  the  battle 
should  surge  to  their  feet  and  draw  them  into  it. 

"  Those  sharpshooters  are  hot  little  fellows  to-day," 
said  Shaftoe  in  a  judicial  tone;  "  see  how  they  skip  and 
jump!  A  sharpshooter  is  the  only  man  who  gets  any 
real  fun  out  of  a  battle.  He's  a  hunter  after  his  game, 
and  the  smoke  of  his  own  gun  goes  up  his  nose  until  it 
makes  him  mad  for  blood.  There's  a  special  hell  for 
sharpshooters,  you  know." 

The  fire  of  the  skirmishers  increased;  they  pressed 
forward  in  swarms,  the  rapid  flash  of  their  rifles  made 
a  line  of  flame,  and  the  smoke  drifted  back  over  the 
heads  of  the  creeping  marksmen.  The  massive  Con- 
federate column  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  drift 
of  idle  talk  floating  in  the  last  minute  or  two  up  and 
down  the  line  of  dismounted  horsemen  with  which 
Shaftoe  and  I  stood,  ceased,  the  men  clutching  their 


314  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

carbines  more  tightly  and  drawing  deep  breaths,  as  if 
they  would  fill  their  chests  for  a  supreme  effort.  We 
were  hidden  from  the  approaching  enemy  by  the  nature 
of  the  ground,  and  I  saw  that  it  would  rest  with  us  to 
open  the  real  battle,  an  honour  and  a  danger  which  we 
took  calmly  as  became  veterans. 

Our  ambushed  cavalry,  good  marksmen,  poured  a 
volley  at  convenient  range  into  the  advancing  gray 
Southern  mass,  choosing  the  buttons  on  their  breasts  as 
targets,  and  firing  so  close  together  that  there  was  but 
one  crash. 

"  Now  for  work!  "  exclaimed  Shaftoe,  reloading  his 
carbine  with  a  swift  and  practised  hand. 

The  answering  report  came  from  the  Southern  line, 
descending  the  slopes  of  Willoughby  Eun,  and  some  of 
our  cavalrymen  would  ride  no  more;  then  our  carbines 
were  emptied  a  second  time,  and  in  a  moment  we  were 
in  a  battle  whose  two  lines  of  fire  steadily  swung  nearer 
and  nearer,  while  the  men  with  thinning  ranks  and 
sweating  hands,  clasping  hot  gun-barrels,  reloaded 
swiftly  and  discharged  with  deadly  aim.  But  the 
Southern  line  came  on,  the  faces  of  the  men  showing 
through  the  drifting  smoke,  and  the  flame  of  their 
volleys  going  before. 

"  What  are  they  doing  behind  us?  Why  don't  they 
help?"  cried  Shaftoe. 

"  They  are  helping.     Don't  you  hear?  "  I  answered. 

The  mounted  horsemen  in  our  rear  were  firing  over 
our  heads  into  the  Southern  column,  and  behind  them 
all  the  great  guns  of  the  battery  had  begun  to  speak  in 
tones  most  welcome  to  those  who  stood  in  the  first  rank 
and  felt  the  pressure  of  the  foe. 

The  Southern  lines  were  rising  and  falling  like 
irregular  waves  on  the  slopes  of  Willoughby  Eun,  but 
did  not  flinch  before  the  fire  of  the  veteran  troops  who 
faced  them.  The  combat  became  murderous  to  the 
last  degree,  and  the  crash  of  the  rifles  and  the  roar  of 


THE  PRICE  OP  SHOES  315 

the  guns  were  unbroken.  The  Southerners  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  numbers,  we  of  position  and  the  defensive. 
Buford,  our  general,  watching  from  a  lofty  position, 
saw  more  long  columns  of  men  approaching  on  the 
roads  from  the  northwest,  and  though  it  was  too  far  to 
discern  either  uniform  or  flag,  he  knew  that  these  could 
be  only  the  brigades  of  the  enemy,  fresh  troops  coming 
to  the  help  of  their  comrades.  Our  men  refused  to  give 
ground,  although  our  ranks  were  torn  by  the  fire  of  the 
artillery  and  carbines;  and  the  constant  closing  up  of 
the  squares  after  the  passage  of  bullets  and  cannon  balls 
through  human  flesh  and  bones,  like  the  shutting  up  of 
an  accordion  as  the  air  goes  out  of  it,  was  fast  reducing 
our  army  from  a  fair-sized  to  a  small  one. 

But  help  was  coming  for  us  too.  An  officer  in  the 
belfry  of  the  seminary  beheld  a  column  of  dust  in  the 
southeast;  the  heads  of  men  presently  emerged  from 
the  cloud,  and  Buford  himself  climbed  into  the  belfry 
to  see  who  might  come  from  that  friendly  quarter.  It 
was  Reynolds  with  his  division,  and  now,  by  right  of 
seniority,  he  became  commander  of  the  field. 

We  still  held  the  ground,  though  at  a  cost  we  were 
not  yet  able  to  count,  our  foes  giving  no  time  for  enu- 
merations, and  we  were  too  tired  to  cheer  the  fresh 
troops  which  now  came  in  sight,  pressed  on  by  messen- 
gers from  Reynolds  to  hurry. 

"  Help  at  last!  "  I  cried. 

"Yes,  help  at  last!"  said  Shaftoe,  "but  it  only 
means  a  bigger  battle!  Look  how  the  enemy  gather! 
Flies  never  flew  to  a  lump  of  sugar  faster  than  they  are 
coming!  " 

The  lines  of  Southern  troops  issuing  from  the  west- 
ern horizon  seemed  endless.  The  battle  but  deepened; 
it  was  reaching  out,  widening  its  circle,  extending  long 
arms  and  bringing  new  regiments  and  brigades  within 
its  grasp. 

Reynolds  was  leading  a  column  on  the  Cashtown 
21 


316  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

road  to  cut  off  the  enemy  when  he  saw  disaster  befall 
our  centre  and  the  triumphant  Southern  troops  seize  a 
wood  at  the  end  of  the  slope,  from  the  shelter  of  which 
they  poured  deadly  volleys.  Always  quick  to  see  and 
equally  quick  to  execute,  this  general,  who  had  but  ten 
minutes  more  to  live,  prepared  to  make  those  minutes  of 
the  utmost  service  to  his  country.  Placing  himself  at 
the  head  of  a  command  which  had  won  and  deserved  the 
name  of  the  Iron  Brigade,  he  led  it  against  the  wood, 
the  men  breaking  into  a  run  and  rushing  on  with  their 
general.  A  bullet  struck  the  brave  Eeynolds  in  the 
centre  of  the  forehead  and  he  died  without  a  word, 
but  the  Iron  Brigade,  preserving  the  fire  and  dash  that 
had  given  to  it  its  name,  swept  into  the  wood  and  fell  on 
the  Southern  troops  there,  annihilating  them. 

Three  hours  from  the  beginning  of  the  battle  For- 
tune, which  was  never  more  fickle  than  on  that  day, 
changed  again  and  chose  us  as  the  object  of  her  ardent 
but  temporary  worship.  Doubleday,  a  new  Northern 
general,  and  by  right  of  seniority  the  third  to  take 
command  of  the  whole  field,  arrived  with  fresh  troops 
and  regained  lost  ground.  Heth,  the  Confederate 
leader,  hurried  forward  his  men  not  yet  in  the  battle. 

The  character  of  Gettysburg  as  a  magnet,  the  ob- 
scure little  place  developing  so  suddenly  its  hidden 
power,  grew  upon  it  with  the  day.  Noon  came,  many 
thousand  men  had  marched  into  it,  and  many  thousand 
more  were  converging  upon  a  town  of  which  the  major- 
ity had  never  heard  before,  brought  there  without  in- 
tent, and  by  the  original  desire  of  the  Southern  troops 
to  obtain  some  shoes — the  modern  world's  greatest 
battle  built  upon  the  basis  of  a  pair  of  cheap  shoes! 

"  They've  made  the  fighting  as  fast  as  a  man  can 
stand  it,"  I  said,  when  the  combat  shifted  away  from 
us  for  the  moment. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Shaftoe,  "  and  while  we've  been  busy 
here  the  battle's  been  growing  without  us.     Look!  " 


THE  PRICE  OF  SHOES  317 

He  swept  his  hand  in  a  circle,  and  everywhere  it 
pointed  to  fire  and  smoke,  and  from  every  point  came 
the  crash  of  the  combat — the  long,  steady  roll  of  rifles 
and  artillery,  a  deep  and  blended  note. 

"  We  are  enveloped  by  the  enemy!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  And  our  friends  also,"  added  Shaf  toe.  "  Let  'em 
fight.  Our  time  will  come  again  soon  enough.  But 
for  the  present  I'm  going  to  dine." 

"Dine!     What  on?  " 

"  Not  on  cannon  balls,  my  gay  cocksparrow.  I'll 
take  a  chew  of  tobacco.  Tobacco  chewing  has  been 
called  a  filthy  habit,  and  I  believe  it  meets  with  the  dis- 
approval of  foreign  travellers,  who  write  books  about 
our  country  and  don't  know  their  own;  but  as  it  gives 
me  mental,  physical,  and  moral  sustenance — all  good 
things  in  their  way — I'll  indulge,  while  you,  who  don't 
chew,  will  have  to  comfort  yourself  with  air,  of  which 
there  is  a  bountiful  supply  and  no  charge." 

Having  delivered  this  long  speech,  he  bit  a  piece  of 
tobacco  from  a  huge  twist  that  he  produced  from  his 
pocket  and  chewed  in  great  contentment,  meanwhile 
looking  philosophically  over  the  field. 

"  Battle  is  going  against  us,"  he  said  presently. 

"  Why,  I  thought  that  we  were  winning,"  I  ex- 
claimed in  great  surprise. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  said  it  was  going  against  us  if  you 
had  been  a  new  soldier,  but  you  are  an  old  one  now, 
and  the  difference  between  an  old  and  a  new  one  is  that 
an  old  one  can  stand  truth,  when  it's  bad,  and  a  new 
one  can't,  always.  Look  how  the  rebels  charge!  See 
what  a  spring  they  have!  and  see  how  our  men  pant! 
They'll  be  shoving  us  back  soon.  If  the  South  seceded 
like  a  woman,  she  certainly  fights  like  a  man;  besides, 
I  think  their  men  are  arriving  faster  than  ours.  Can't 
you  see  them  coming  upon  those  roads  out  of  the  west 
and  northwest?  " 

"  There  is  such  a  thick  cloud  of  fire  and  smoke  that 


318  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

I  can  see  through  it  but  dimly;  yet  I  can  catch  now  and 
then  the  flash  of  bayonets  and  a  glimpse  of  marching 
columns." 

"  Yes,  they  come  and  never  stop  coming,"  said  Shaf- 
toe,  more  to  himself  than  to  me.  "Carbines  now! 
Here's  our  own  corner  of  the  battle  booming  up  again." 

The  combat  which  had  sunk  at  only  one  or  two 
points,  and  for  but  a  few  moments,  embraced  us  all 
once  more.  The  Southerners  advanced,  in  force  im- 
posing and  with  a  determination  yet  more  imposing, 
the  fire  of  their  own  Southern  sun  shining  in  their  eyes. 
Heth  had  gathered  his  broken  brigades  and  cemented 
them  together  with  new  men;  the  battle,  so  strange  in 
its  beginning  and  so  remarkable  in  its  steady  growth 
of  volume  and  intensity,  was  about  to  assume  another 
and  greater  phase. 

As  the  Southern  troops  advanced,  both  sides  opened 
with  all  the  guns,  great  and  small,  that  they  could  bring 
to  bear,  and  the  combat  swelled  afresh. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

THE    BUCKTAILS    GKOW   ANGRY 

The  renewed  attack  of  the  Southern  army  was 
made  with  greatest  violence  on  our  right  wing,  where 
stood  a  brigade  of  remarkable  men,  Pennsylvanians, 
who  proudly  called  themselves  the  "  Bucktails  ";  that 
was  their  martial  device,  an  emblem  of  honour,  and  the 
name  meant  as  much  to  them  as  any  banner  or  inscrip- 
tion ever  carried  by  a  body  of  troops  with  a  standing 
of  centuries,  and  a  commensurate  pride  in  their  ancient 
honour.  The  brigade  had  never  existed  before  these 
men  were  born,  but  they  had  been  fighting  all  their  lives 
— not  in  war,  but  in  a  calling  with  almost  equal  hard- 
ships and  dangers.  They  were  a  regiment  of  giants, 
lumbermen  from  the  wild  hill  and  mountain  regions  of 
Pennsylvania,  tall,  far  beyond  the  average  of  men,  huge 
of  chest  and  limb,  with  faces  seamed  by  heat  and  cold, 
rain  and  sleet,  hawk  eyes,  great  knotted  fingers,  the 
strength  of  a  bull  and  the  digestion  of  a  bear,  born  in 
the  wilderness  and  living  there  by  choice,  sleeping 
oftener  under  the  sky  than  a  roof — men  who  would 
stand  for  a  day  to  their  armpits  in  icy  water,  guiding 
ten-ton  logs  down  a  rocky  channel,  and  joke  about  the 
incessant  risk  of  being  crushed  to  death.  It  was  men 
like  these  who  could  go  into  war  as  a  relief  from  the 
hard  duties  of  their  daily  calling,  and  such  were  the 
Bucktails. 

It  was  behind  these  that  a  few  remnants  of  the  dis- 

319 


320  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

mounted  cavalry,  Shaftoe  and  I  among  them,  who  had 
been  defending  the  railroad  cut,  took  refuge,  and  sought 
a  little  breathing  spell  before  entering  the  battle  anew. 

When  the  Southern  wave  gathered  itself  again  and 
came  on,  its  crest  a  ribbon  of  steel  and  fire,  the  Buck- 
tails  rose  from  the  ground  where  they  had  been  taking  a 
moment's  rest  and  regarded  the  enemy  with  calm  and 
impartial  contemplation;  they  had  eaten  like  giants, 
and  they  stood  up  rows  of  giants,  expanding  their 
chests,  stretching  their  muscles,  rejoicing  in  their 
strength,  and  unafraid. 

The  Bucktails  were  in  a  good  humour,  an  exceeding- 
ly good  humour.  They  had  been  camping  and  marching 
so  long  that  they  had  begun  to  think  army  life  fit  only 
for  men  of  common  calibre,  men  who  had  plenty  of  pa- 
tience and  were  willing  to  pass  day  after  day  without 
any  event  of  interest — that  is,  men  who  were  fond  of  a 
quiet  life;  but  it  did  not  suit  them;  they  had  expected 
danger  in  coming  to  war,  and  when  it  made  a  wide  cir- 
cuit around  them  they  growled  among  themselves  and 
said  that  the  whole  thing  was  a  sham;  it  was  too  dull. 
What  had  they  enlisted  for  but  to  fight?  and  if  they 
could  not  fight,  they  might  as  well  go  back  to  their  lum- 
bering among  the  mountains,  where  life  at  least  had  its 
variety,  and  was  seasoned  with  the  fine  spice  of  risk. 

But  now,  danger  after  so  many  shabby  evasions  was 
a  present  and  threatening  fact;  all  these  sights  and 
sounds  had  familiarity  in  them,  and,  moreover,  they 
meant  something.  The  roar  of  the  cannon  was  like  the 
thunder  of  ten  thousand  logs  leaping  down  the  cataract 
of  a  swollen  mountain  stream;  the  smell  of  the  battle 
smoke  tickled  their  nostrils  like  the  ashes  of  one  of 
their  own  mountain  forests  burning  in  summer,  when 
the  dead  heat  has  been  hovering  for  days,  and  every  tree 
is  as  dry  as  a  coal;  thus  they  found  a  double  joy:  the 
smell  and  sound  of  home,  and  the  break  in  the  mo- 
notony of  recent  life.     So  the  Bucktails  were  happy, 


THE  BUCKTAILS  GROW  ANGRY  321 

and,  seeing  the  battle  roll  nearer  and  yet  nearer  to 
them,  its  front  a  wall  of  bayonets  and  rifles  and  cannon 
muzzles,  each  grasped  his  own  rifle,  much  as  the  lumber- 
man seizes  the  handle  of  his  axe  in  both  hands  when 
preparing  for  a  blow,  and  stood,  feet  planted  like  stout 
saplings  in  the  earth,  and  waiting. 

The  Bucktails  smiled;  the  smile  was  not  one  of  mal- 
ice nor  derision,  merely  a  smile  of  content.  They  had 
no  hatred  of  the  foe,  and  they  did  not  undervalue  him, 
they  never  made  such  a  mistake  as  that;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  had  the  highest  respect  for  him,  and  that  was 
why  they  smiled.  Here  was  an  enemy  entirely  worthy 
of  themselves,  the  Bucktails,  sons  of  the  forests  and 
mountains,  and  they  would  be  lowered  in  no  way  by 
meeting  him;  anger  had  no  place  whatever  among 
their  feelings  at  this  moment,  and  they  stood  like 
gentlemen,  unexcited  and  unafraid. 

Their  commander  gave  the  order  to  fire.  The  rifles 
seemed  to  leap  to  their  shoulders  and  the  flames  to 
spurt  from  the  muzzles  at  the  same  moment.  Then 
nothing  was  heard  among  them  for  a  while  but  the 
clicking  of  the  gunlocks,  the  crackle  of  the  volleys,  the 
stifled  cry  of  a  man  hard  hit,  the  deep  breathing  of  the 
brigade,  and  once  or  twice  the  quick,  snapping  order  of 
an  officer.  The  front  of  the  Bucktails  was  a  sheet  of 
fire,  and  the  bullets  sang  merrily  through  it  and  the 
smoke  beyond.  By  and  by  they  waited  a  little  for  the 
smoke  to  lift. 

There  is  a  jester  or  a  joker,  a  man  of  many  words,  in 
every  regiment  or  company,  and  the  Bucktails  rejoiced 
in  theirs;  he  was  a  youngster  of  six  and  a  half  feet,  one 
of  the  largest  of  them  all,  and  his  name  was  McCon- 
nell,  half  Irishman  half  Scotchman  by  descent,  and  all 
American  by  birth,  feeling,  and  fact.  Standing  upon  a 
rock,  where  his  six  and  a  half  feet  became  seven  and  a 
half  feet  of  rawboned  and  picturesque  humanity,  he 
exercised  his  gift  of  irresponsible  speech  and  invited  the 


322  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

rebels,  in  a  voice  like  mountain  thunder,  to  come  on 
and  discuss  a  current  topic  of  importance.  But  his 
tones  were  friendly,  like  those  of  one  knight  to  an- 
other. 

"  We  are  waiting,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "  We  have 
heard  of  Fredericksburg,  and  Manassas,  and  Chancel- 
lorsville,  but  we  are  here;  you  see  that  we  do  not  run 
away.  We  are  ever  anxious  to  meet  you,  and  hospitable 
though  you  may  be,  we  shall  be  equally  so!  Come  on, 
gentlemen,  we  beg  you,  we  pray  you,  we  are  tired  of 
waiting,  we  rejoice  at  the  sight  of  such  fine  men." 

McConnell's  Irish  descent  was  evident  sometimes. 

His  brother  Bucktails  looked  upon  him  and  smiled 
an  indulgent  smile.  McConnell  was  a  privileged  char- 
acter, and  if  he  wished  to  use  words  that  were  big  and 
long  there  was  none  to  oppose  him. 

The  invitation  was  accepted;  the  approach  of  the 
Southern  line  did  not  cease,  and  its  front  blazed  with 
flame;  the  bullets  and  shells  flew  in  showers. 

The  Bucktails  smiled  again,  and  it  was  still  the 
gentle,  forgiving  smile  of  extreme  good  nature.  The 
battle  was  acquiring  a  pleasant  warmth;  they  foresaw  a 
period  of  healthful  and  important  activity. 

"  Now  that  seems  real,"  shouted  McConnell  to  the 
enemy  from  his  rocky  perch.  "  You  are  all  wool,  and  a 
yard  wide,  gentlemen  to  the  bone,  and  you  mean  busi- 
ness. That's  what  we  like  to  see,  but  we  beg  to  inform 
you  that  the  Bucktails  are  still  waiting." 

His  tone  became  one  of  exaggerated  politeness,  and 
had  in  it  a  strain  of  anxiety;  he  feared  that  they  would 
not  persist  in  their  advance,  that  they  would  not  come 
fast  enough,  that  they  did  not  place  sufficient  reliance 
on  the  Bucktails,  that  they  would  disappoint  the  gentle- 
men who  were  waiting  with  such  eagerness  to  keep  an 
important  engagement  with  them.  He  implored,  he 
begged  his  Southern  friends  not  to  disappoint  the  Buck- 
tails,  and  he  described  the  grief  of  his  comrades  if  they 


THE  BUCKTAILS  GROW  ANGRY  323 

were  compelled  to  go  back  to  their  mountain  homes 
among  the  logging  camps  without  such  an  interesting 
meeting. 

The  smile  of  the  Bucktails  deepened  and  remained. 
McConnell  was  a  credit  to  his  regiment,  and  they  would 
not  interfere  with  his  flow  of  speech;  the  beautiful 
words  were  linked  so  beautifully  together;  they  too  felt 
the  exuberance  of  life  and  the  joy  of  strong  men  about 
to  use  their  strength. 

Wishing  to  encourage  the  rebels  and  show  that  their 
reception  would  be  as  warm  as  the  promise,  the  Buck- 
tails  began  to  fire  anew.  Their  carbines  cooled  a  little, 
the  smoke  floated  away,  and  the  whole  target  was 
disclosed.  They  excelled  themselves,  firing  more  swift- 
ly than  before  in  their  good  humour  and  zeal.  The 
stream  of  their  bullets  increased  in  volume,  and  they 
stood  in  a  broad  and  continuous  blaze  of  light  made  by 
the  flash  of  their  rifles. 

The  battle  flared  along  a  wide  semicircular  line  and 
its  thunder  deepened;  the  sounds  blended,  the  shouting 
of  the  men,  the  rumble  of  the  cannon  wheels,  the  voice 
of  the  cannon  itself,  and  the  penetrating  crash  of  the 
rifles,  all  confused,  intermingling,  forming  a  roar  that 
had  a  range  of  many  notes,  each  threatening.  Dense 
columns  of  smoke  arose,  shot  through  with  the  brown 
of  trampled  earth. 

The  smile  of  the  Bucktails  became  expansive.  They 
continued  to  fire  into  the  solid  gray  mass  that  came 
toward  them;  presently  they  paused  again,  and,  looking 
eagerly  to  see  what  they  had  done,  were  pleased  when 
they  noted  the  new  lanes  in  the  Southern  line,  the 
cumbering  of  the  earth  with  the  fallen,  and  the  hesita- 
tions of  their  foes.  They  were  sharpshooters  who  had 
killed  deer  and  bear,  and  it  pleased  them  to  think  that 
even  amid  so  much  smoke  and  dust  they  could  still  look 
down  the  sights  straight  and  draw  the  bead  true. 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  "  cried  McConnell,  in  ap- 


324  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

pealing  tones,  "  why  do  you  delay?  Don't  you  see  that 
we,  the  Bucktails,  are  waiting?  Virginians,  Kentuck- 
ians,  Tennesseeans,  Texans,  whoever  you  are,  I  wouldn't 
have  expected  this  of  you!  Soldiers  with  your  caps  full 
of  victories,  are  you  going  to  leave  the  Bucktails,  who 
want  your  company?  " 

The  Southerners  had  no  notion  of  disappointing 
their  foes;  they  were  merely  reforming  their  front  line, 
shattered  by  the  rifle  fire,  and  they  advanced  again  with 
steady  step,  heads  up,  eyes  bright,  ranks  even. 

The  hearts  of  the  Bucktails  were  full.  "  We  have 
come  to  stay,  and  here  we  stay,"  they  said  to  each  other. 
They  noted  carefully  the  ground  they  stood  upon,  in 
"order  that  they  might  not  be  pushed  back  from  it  and 
not  know  it.  They  fired  another  volley,  and  again  saw 
with  pleasure  its  effect.  The  bullets  and  the  shrapnel 
were  whistling  over  their  heads,  but  they  had  heard 
storms  on  the  mountains  make  a  louder  noise.  Sudden- 
ly the  leaden  sleet  of  the  rifle  balls  sank  lower,  and  the 
Bucktails  were  in  its  path;  it  went  on  through  the  regi- 
ment like  a  knife  through  cheese,  and  the  muster  roll 
of  the  Bucktails  was  shorter.  But  the  Bucktails  only 
smiled  their  habitual  smile;  they  had  expected  to  pay  a 
price;  they  had  been  paying  a  price  all  their  lives;  log- 
ging and  the  winter  storms  always  insisted  on  taking 
toll,  and  the  loggers  had  no  right  to  grumble.  The  dead 
lay  where  they  fell,  the  badly  wounded  struggled  to  the 
rear,  and  the  living  did  the  work  they  were  there  to  do. 

MeConnell  shouted  his  defiance;  he  admitted  that 
the  Southerners  had  done  well  with  the  last  volley,  but 
he  bade  them  take  notice  that  the  Bucktails  were 
still  waiting;  they  had  purchased  in  fee  simple  the  land 
upon  which  they  stood,  and  would  defend  their  right 
against  all  who  came. 

The  Bucktails  smiled  and  jested  with  each  other. 
Nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  their  good  humour; 
the  foe  was  behaving  in  an  admirable  manner,  he  was 


THE  BUCKTAILS  GROW  ANGRY  325 

disappointing  no  expectation  of  theirs,  and  they  would 
disappoint  none  of  his.  They  reloaded  and  fired  their 
rifles  with  all  the  rapidity  of  skilled  hands,  sending  the 
bullets  home  in  a  shower  that  swept  level  with  the 
ground,  and  not  higher  than  a  man's  head  above  it. 

The  blood  leaped  in  McConnell's  veins  and  his  heart 
pumped  it  in  a  great  flood  to  his  head;  he  was  breathing 
the  fumes  of  battle. 

"  Don't  you  hear  the  song  of  the  bullets?  "  he  cried. 
"  Listen  how  it  calls  to  you  and  soothes  you!  It's  like 
the  buzz  of  the  wind  among  the  trees  on  the  mountain 
top;  it's  like  the  song  of  a  river  flowing  down  a  gorge; 
it's  like  the  whistle  of  the  axe  as  it  bites  into  the  tough 
wood!  I  love  to  hear  it.  It's  music  in  the  air,  and 
makes  my  muscles  strong." 

McConnell  was  battle-drunk.  Moreover,  he  was  feel- 
ing the  Homeric  inflation,  tinctured  but  not  qualified 
by  a  Celtic  infusion.  All  the  Bucktails  showed  the 
enthusiasm  of  their  bard.  Knowing  danger  all  their 
lives,  they  took  no  extra  thought  of  it  now  merely 
because  it  came  in  a  new  form.  They  shouted  their 
defiances  again  in  the  old  Homeric  fashion,  bade  the 
enemy  come  on,  and  boasted  that  they  would  hold  the 
ground  upon  which  they  stood  until  a  region  that  is 
warmer  than  this  froze  over!  Their  spirits  were  effer- 
vescent, overflowing.  The  shells  and  the  bullets  flew 
over  their  heads  and  around  them,  but  did  not  strike 
them.  Some  special  fortune  designed  for  the  Bucktails 
seemed  to  protect  them,  and  therefore,  as  the  battle 
deepened  and  rolled  up  toward  their  line  in  circular 
waves,  the  smile  of  the  Bucktails  deepened  too,  and 
spread  in  circular  waves  across  their  faces. 

Meanwhile  the  ardour  of  the  Bucktails  grew.  They 
had  not  lost  an  inch  of  ground;  instead,  they  pressed 
forward  to  meet  the  enemy,  and  their  ranks  were  steady 
and  even,  flexible  like  good  steel,  but  as  tough.  The 
crash  of  their  firing  paused  only  when  their  rifles  grew 


326  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

too  hot,  or  for  the  battle  smoke  to  lift,  and  always  the 
same  smile  of  content  was  upon  their  faces. 

The  flow  of  McConnell's  eloquence  was  unchecked, 
and  came  in  an  expanding  stream.  He  made  a  run  on 
his  vocabulary;  he  used  all  the  long  and  polite  words 
that  he  knew,  and  his  manner,  always  courtly,  grew 
courtlier  and  more  courtly.  Then  he  turned  to  gibes 
and  jeers,  and  ridiculed  the  Southern  marksmanship. 
He  told  the  enemy  how  his  bullets  and  shells  were  flying 
wide,  and  bade-him  fire  lower. 

There  was  a  nasty  scream,  a  long,  flying  hiss,  and  a 
shell  aimed  with  deadly  skill  burst  upon  the  Bucktails 
where  they  stood  thickest.  The  regiment  quivered  for 
a  few  moments  like  a  man  who  has  received  a  staggering 
blow.  Then  the  wounded  were  carried  away,  and  those 
to  whom  the  combat  was  nothing  now  were  left  alone. 
But  the  Bucktails  still  smiled;  this  was  only  an  incident 
of  battle,  and  it  was  remarkable  that  it  had  not  hap- 
pened before.  The  smile  became  as  hearty  as  ever 
when  their  heavy  return  fire  caused  the  enemy  to  stag- 
ger and  then  stop,  and  McConnell  burst  into  a  shout  of 
triumph  and  defiance,  almost  unheard  now,  for  the 
thunder  of  the  battle  was  roaring  in  their  ears,  and  the 
incessant  "  Wheet-wheet "  of  the  bullets  was  like  the 
shriek  of  a  storm. 

The  faces  of  the  Bucktails  were  red,  the  hot  blood  at 
last  showing  through  the  brown  skin;  their  eyes  were 
flashing  with  determination  and  pleasure,  and  their 
teeth  were  shut  hard.  The  clouds  of  smoke  which  had 
risen  in  front  when  they  fired  their  last  volley  floated  up 
a  little  and  disclosed  again  the  faces  of  their  enemy  as 
red  and  determined  as  their  own.  Then  the  sleet  of 
rifle  balls  which  had  been  whistling  over  their  heads 
bent  lower,  like  a  flight  of  wild  ducks,  suddenly  sweep- 
ing downward,  and  began  to  cut  a  way  through  the 
Bucktails. 

The  range  of  the  Bucktails  had  been  found  at  last, 


THE  BUCKTAILS  GROW  ANGRY      32? 

and  the  cruel  sleet  beat  continuously  upon  them,  rid- 
dling their  lines,  filling  their  squares  full  of  holes  like  a 
pepper  box,  and  giving  them  no  rest.  McConnell  felt 
his  blood  leap  as  the  fire  lashed  them  through  and 
through.  His  brain  was  hot  and  his  eloquence  rose  to 
its  highest.  The  Bucktails  still  smiled  as  this  flight 
of  steel  and  lead  cut  through  them,  and  they  responded 
to  it  with  a  mountain  storm  of  their  own.  Yet  they 
could  hear  around  them  the  pat-pat  of  bullets  striking 
home,  a  sound  like  that  of  pebbles  dropping  lightly  on 
the  grass,  and  the  low  cry  of  men — not  much  more  than 
a  sigh — as  they  fell.  But  they  encouraged  each  other; 
stood  with  shoulders  touching,  and  offered  a  bulwark  of 
broad  breasts  that  did  not  flinch.  They  refused  to 
yield.  They  had  bought  the  ground  in  fee  simple,  they 
repeated,  and  they  would  hold  it. 

The  attack  decreased  in  violence  presently.  The 
battle  lines  of  the  enemy  seemed  to  shift  to  other  points, 
and  the  Bucktails  ceased  for  a  time  to  be  a  centre  of 
attention.  The  clouds  of  drifting  smoke  lifted  again, 
the  sunlight  reached  them,  and  they  saw  the  cruel  rents 
and  seams  that  had  been  made  in  their  lines,  where  the 
shell  and  the  shrapnel  and  the  bullets  had  passed.  The 
Bucktails  had  held  their  ground,  but  they  had  been 
forced  to  sow  their  dead  freely  upon  it  to  prove  that  it 
was  theirs. 

But  McConnell — valiant,  sanguine,  irrepressible — 
lifted  up  his  voice  and  shouted  defiance  as  of  old,  the 
Homeric  fire  still  burning  in  his  veins,  and  the  battle 
smile  appeared  again  upon  the  faces  of  the  Bucktails. 

"  They  are  beaten!  "  cried  McConnell.  "  They  are 
afraid  to  attack  us  again!  " 

But  the  column  of  the  Southerners  which  had 
parted  for  a  moment  in  front  of  them  swung  back  to- 
gether with  a  click  like  a  ball  going  into  its  socket,  and 
there  again  were  the  faces  of  their  enemies  showing 
through  the  smoke,  and  coming  on.     A  stream  of  fire 


328  IN   CIRCLING  CAMPS 

was  directed  upon  the  Bucktails,  and  their  first  rank 
crumpled  up  in  the  heat.  But  the  second  took  the 
place  of  the  first,  and,  fighting,  stood  there  amid  the 
shells  and  bullets,  McConnell,  the  self-chosen  trumpet- 
er, shouting  to  his  comrades  and  encouraging  them 
with  the  cry  that  at  last  they  were  seeing  a  real  battle. 
But  the  Bucktails  had  no  thought  of  yielding.  They 
intended  to  die  to  the  last  man  first,  and  with  an  inces- 
sant closing  up  of  their  shattered  ranks,  and  a  swift  re- 
turn of  the  hostile  fire,  they  stood  firm  until  the  tem- 
pest sank  again,  and  the  enemy  was  forced  to  fall  back 
before  the  iron  front  of  the  lumbermen. 

Then  the  Bucktails  made  an  accounting  of  them- 
selves and  undertook  to  see  how  many  lived  and  how 
many  had  died.  They  looked  over  the  ranks  and  the 
little  heaps  of  slain,  and  at  those  who  still  stood,  an 
almost  equal  division.  Then  they  looked  at  the  faces  of 
each  other  and  noticed  the  change. 

The  Bucktails  had  ceased  to  smile! 

"Courage,  boys!"  sbouted  McConnell.  "It  seems 
that  the  enemy  is  in  earnest.  I  believe  that  he  actually 
means  it  to-day!  " 

"  If  he  isn't  in  earnest,  he  shouldn't  make  such  a 
good  imitation,"  growled  a  captain  of  the  Bucktails. 

The  enemy  was  in  earnest — great,  deadly  earnest. 
The  Bucktails  could  no  longer  doubt  it.  Because  he 
had  paused  once  more  was  no  indication  that  he  meant 
to  quit.  He  would  return  again  and  again,  and  many 
times.  He  would  give  the  Bucktails  no  rest;  he  would 
not  only  equal  the  demands  of  politeness,  he  would  ex- 
ceed them.  The  smile  reappeared  upon  the  faces  of  the 
Bucktails,  but  it  was  fitful.  Moreover,  it  was  faint  as 
well  as  fitful.  Yet  the  Bucktails  rose  to  the  need  and 
presented  the  same  front  of  steel  to  the  enemy,  who 
were  forming  anew  before  them,  with  a  solemn  drum 
somewhere  beating  the  charge. 

The  Bucktails,  in  the  earlier  phases  of  the  combat, 


THE  BUCKTAILS  GROW  ANGRY  329 

had  taken  note  of  the  whole  battle  which  swirled  over  a 
long  semicircle,  but  by  a  slow  process  their  attention 
was  concentrated  upon  their  part  of  it;  they  were  mo- 
nopolized by  their  own  combat.  The  foe  was  too  active 
and  dangerous  to  permit  anything  else,  and  now  they 
admitted  it. 

The  fire  of  artillery  reached  them,  as  they  awaited 
the  new  charge,  and  burned  them.  They  quivered 
under  it  and  twisted  about,  but  could  make  no  adequate 
reply.  They  did  not  like  this.  It  seemed  to  them  con- 
trary to  the  rules  of  the  game,  and  was  an  unfair  advan- 
tage. They  were  cut  up  by  great  guns,  while  their  own 
covering  artillery  was  directed  upon  some  other  point 
of  the  Southern  line. 

The  last  smile,  faint  and  nickering,  left  the  faces  of 
the  Bucktails;  their  complexions  grew  redder,  and  red 
streaks  appeared  in  their  eyes.  They  began  to  swear, 
not  mild,  liquid  oaths  that  break  harmlessly  like  sum- 
mer raindrops,  but  deep,  rasping,  uncut,  many-cornered 
oaths,  that  were  flung  red  hot  from  the  throat,  and 
burned  like  acid. 

The  Bucktails  were  growing  angry! 

And  there  is  something  fearful  in  the  anger  of  a 
brigade  of  mountain  men  all  of  whom  are  six  feet  high, 
and  many  much  more;  men  of  the  open  air  and  swelling 
muscle  who  had  been  good  comrades  with  danger  all 
their  lives.  McConnell  was  the  angriest  of  them  all. 
His  eyes  were  inflamed  and  the  cords  of  his  neck  stood 
out.  But  he  lost  the  power  of  speech — his  surprise  and 
wrath  choked  him.  The  rich  flow  of  his  eloquence  no 
longer  mingled  with  the  shriek  of  the  battle.  Yet  the 
Bucktails  were  prepared  to  make  their  greatest  effort. 

The  Southern  line  was  hurled  upon  them  again, 
crested  with  bayonets  and  preceded  with  showers  of 
bullets.  But  the  Bucktails  planted  their  feet  in  the 
ground,  and,  standing  amid  their  dead  and  the  blaze  of 
their  own  rapid  volleys,  received  the  full  weight  of  the 


330  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

charge  which  broke  against  their  breasts.  The  smell 
of  sweat  and  blood,  of  clothing  and  flesh,  burned  by  the 
flash  of  gunpowder,  filled  the  air.  The  smoke  and  the 
flame  and  the  shouting  mingled  in  one  red  whirl,  and 
the  reek  of  battle  inclosed  them  all. 

Then  the  pillar  of  fire  and  smoke  separated,  and  the 
combatants  fell  apart.  The  charge,  like  its  predeces- 
sors, had  shivered  itself  to  pieces  on  the  iron  wall  of  the 
Bucktails. 

But  the  Bucktails  were  not  exultant.  There  was 
not  a  smiling  eye  in  all  their  ranks.  They  looked  again 
over  their  brigade,  and  to  many  minds  came  the  simile 
of  one  of  their  own  mountain  forests  swept  by  a  hurri- 
cane. McConnell,  now  a  dumb  bard,  was  unhurt,  but, 
as  he  stood  amid  the  wreck  around  him,  a  single  tear 
ran  down  his  brown  face.  It  gave  way  to  anger  when 
he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  enemy,  and  saw  that  ene- 
my, fierce  and  indomitable,  his  forces  massing  again, 
rushing  forward  to  a  new  attack. 

Angry,  defiant,  battle-torn,  and  with  no  semblance 
of  a  smile,  the  Bucktails  gathered  themselves  afresh 
for  the  defensive,  while  the  battle  wheeled  and  thun- 
dered around  them. 


CHAPTEE    XXXVIII 

battle's  shift  and  change 

Nothing  was  more  peculiar  than  the  chances  and 
changes  of  this  strange  and  furious  battle,  brought  on 
without  intent,  but,  once  begun,  fought  with  a  fierceness 
unparalleled,  often  hand  to  hand,  and  fortune  shifting 
from  one  side  to  the  other  with  a  fickleness  and  rapidity 
that  dazed  the  combatants,  but  did  not  take  from  them 
their  courage  or  fighting  power.  There  was,  too,  a 
remarkable  succession  of  commanders,  particularly  on 
the  Northern  side,  as  throughout  the  day  new  divisions, 
called  by  messengers  or  the  sound  of  the  guns,  were  con- 
tinually hurrying  to  the  field,  and  bringing  with  them 
generals  of  higher  and  still  higher  rank.  Doubleday 
had  been  superseded  a  half  hour  before  noon  by  How- 
ard, who,  looking  from  the  roof  of  one  of  the  houses, 
saw  all  the  roads  out  of  the  west  and  northwest  covered 
with  Southern  troops  marching  to  the  field  of  battle; 
but,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  east  and  northeast,  he  could 
see  no  more  Northern  soldiers,  and,  feeling  that  Gettys- 
burg must  be  held,  no  matter  what  happened,  he  sent 
urgent  messengers,  some  for  more  troops,  and  one  to 
Meade  himself,  telling  him  that  the  great  day  had  come. 

The  forces  on  the  Southern  side  were  steadily  in- 
creasing, and  fortune  was  certainly  hovering  over  their 
bayonet  points.  But  the  North  suffered  her  terrible 
losses  and  did  not  yield.  The  Bucktails  and  their  com- 
panion regiments  saw  their  numbers  melt  away  under 
22  331 


332  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  fire  of  the  cannon  and  the  rifles,  their  ranks  become 
thin  and  broken,  but  they  knotted  them  up  again  like  a 
broken  whiplash,  and  still  presented  a  continuous  line. 

Shaftoe  and  I  stood  among  the  troops,  still  unhurt, 
but  mere  brown  masks  of  men,  covered  with  dust,  in 
which  the  rills  of  perspiration  had  ploughed  little  gul- 
lies, our  features  distorted  with  the  long  strain  and 
fever  of  battle,  our  throats  and  lips  dry  and  burning. 
We  had  lost  our  horses  long  since  in  the  shift  and 
change  of  the  battle.  We  had  lost  touch,  too,  with  our 
officers,  and  our  only  plan  now  was  to  stand  where  the 
fight  was  thickest. 

We  noticed  the  momentary  lull  that  usually  precedes 
a  heavy  attack.  Shaftoe  instantly  let  the  stock  of  his 
carbine  fall  to  earth  and  drew  deep  breaths.  Then  he 
took  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

"  It's  the  best  that  I  can  do  now,"  he  said,  "  but  I'd 
give  my  chance  of  promotion  for  a  good  dinner." 

I  was  looking  at  the  field  which  was  strewn  as  far  as 
I  could  see  with  the  fallen.  Shaftoe  was  looking  to- 
ward the  hills  behind  Gettysburg. 

"  I  wish  we  were  there,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  better 
place  to  fight  than  this.  Since  we've  got  to  lick  the 
Southerners  back  into  the  Union,  and  make  'em  happy 
after  we've  done  it,  it's  well  to  take  all  the  advantages 
we  can  while  we're  doing  it." 

"  We  may  be  in  that  position  sooner  than  we  wish," 
I  said.  "  The  Southern  army  seems  to  have  made  up 
its  mind  to  drive  us  there,  and  farther." 

"  There's  one  thing  I'd  rather  see  coming  than  a 
good  dinner,"  said  Shaftoe. 

"What's  that?" 

"  A  million  of  our  men — yes,  at  least  a  million 
good  fresh  Northern  soldiers,  with  ten  thousand  pieces 
of  the  heaviest  artillery;  then  I'd  feel  safe.  Boy, 
never  despise  the  value  of  numbers  on  your  side.  Al- 
ways have  'em  if  you  can.     The  best  general  isn't  always 


BATTLE'S  SHIFT  AND  CHANGE  333 

the  one  that  fights  the  bravest,  but  the  one  that  gets 
there  first  with  the  biggest  army  and  the  heaviest  guns. 
I've  read  about  old  Napoleon,  and  he  always  did  it. 
That's  why  he  won.  If  I  was  a  general,  expected  by  a 
confident  country  to  win  everything,  I'd  have  it  put  in 
my  contract,  first  thing,  that  I  was  to  have  ten  times 
as  many  men  and  ten  times  as  many  cannon  as  the 
fellow  I  was  to  whip.  Then  let  the  sneaking  hound 
come  on!  " 

I  looked  with  admiration  at  this  man  who  could 
speak  so  calmly  at  such  a  moment.  Then  I  saw  a  move- 
ment in  the  Southern  lines.  Heavy  masses  of  infantry 
were  gathering  on  the  slopes,  batteries  were  moved  for- 
ward, and  suddenly  they  opened  fire  from  many  great 
guns  upon  our  lines.  Beneath  this  shower  of  iron,  and 
protected  by  it,  the  Southern  troops  advanced. 

"  They  are  coming!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  I  sha'n't  disturb  myself  over  their  coming  until 
they  have  come,"  said  Shaftoe. 

The  solid  mass  of  the  Southern  army  heaved  for- 
ward, moving  over  the  ground  as  if  it  were  a  single 
body.  The  smoke  from  the  artillery  behind  hung  over 
it  like  a  veil,  but  between  the  veil  and  the  earth  the 
faces  of  the  men  stood  out  sharp  and  clear. 

The  Northern  artillery  answered  the  Southern,  but 
was  inferior  and  was  gradually  beaten  down  by  the  op- 
posing shot  and  shell.  The  cannoneers  were  killed  be- 
side their  guns,  and  the  guns  themselves  were  crushed 
by  the  weight  of  so  much  iron  hurled  unceasingly  upon 
them. 

"  We  shall  have  our  hardest  nut  to  crack  now," 
said  Shaftoe.  "  It's  luck  that  we've  got  stone  walls 
and  fences  and  railway  cuts  and  roads  here  to  help  us." 

I  saw  well  enough  that  it  was  a  moment  of  hazard  to 
the  army.  The  dense  columns  of  the  enemy,  their  evi- 
dent determination,  their  powerful  supporting  artillery, 
the  deadly  accuracy  of  their  fire,  were  sufficient  proof  to 


334  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

a  soldier  of  any  experience  that  the  defence  must  now  be 
of  the  most  desperate  kind.  Our  front  ranks  had  be- 
gun already  to  fire  their  rifles,  volley  after  volley,  send- 
ing the  bullets  straight  into  the  oncoming  mass.  But 
it  did  not  stop  the  Southern  advance.  They  fired  their 
own  volleys,  too,  as  they  approached,  until  they  were 
so  near  that  their  artillery  ceased  for  a  moment  lest  its 
shells  should  strike  friends  as  well  as  enemies.  Then 
the  invading  mass  heaved  up  with  a  mighty  effort  and 
hurled  itself  bodily  upon  us. 

I  felt  the  bank  of  smoke  and  fire  swell  out  and  en- 
velop me.  I  saw  the  points  of  many  bayonets  and  a 
wave  of  faces  sweeping  down  upon  me,  while  the  crash 
of  cannon  and  rifles  and  the  voices  of  shouting  men 
filled  my  ears.  The  front  ranks  of  the  defenders  were 
crushed  and  driven  back  in  fragments,  and  then  I  found 
myself  with  Shaftoe  and  others  behind  the  shelter  of  a 
stone  wall  firing  bullets,  as  fast  as  human  hand  could 
crowd  them  into  carbines,  into  the  wall  of  fire  and 
smoke  in  front  of  us. 

It  was  no  longer  an  ordered  battle,  precise,  arranged 
by  mathematics,  and  directed  by  skilful  generals,  but  a 
melee,  a  hurly-burly,  a  wild,  confused  conflict,  in  which 
each  man  fought  for  himself,  and  the  passions  were  let 
loose  to  show  of  what  the  human  race  can  be  capable  in 
its  wildest  moments  of  battle  fever.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  we  had  all  gone  mad  together. 

The  Southern  generals  were  watching  the  smoke 
bank  in  which  we  were  fighting,  eager  to  see  it  move 
forward,  past  the  walls  and  fences,  and  then  envelop  the 
rear  lines  of  the  Northern  army,  but  it  hovered  at  the 
same  spot  over  the  slopes.  The  Southern  line  broke  in 
vain  upon  the  stone  and  wooden  barriers,  but  there  was 
no  lack  of  courage  and  of  sacrifice.  Officers  and  men 
rushed  forward  together,  and  offered  their  breasts  to 
the  bullets  and  cannon  balls,  but  the  slopes  could  not 
be  carried.     The  smoke  bank  thinned  gradually;  the 


BATTLE'S  SHIFT  AND  CHANGE  335 

spurts  of  flame  decreased,  and  the  black  figures,  like  so 
much  tracery  which  had  struggled  in  the  cloud,  resolved 
themselves  into  human  figures.  Then  the  smoke  bank 
split  entirely  apart,  like  a  cheese  cut  down  the  centre  by 
a  knife,  and  the  Southern  lines  fell  back,  leaving  us 
gasping  and  panting,  but  still  holding  the  slope,  while 
between  lay  the  price  that  both  had  paid. 

The  attack  had  failed. 

The  Southern  generals  beheld  the  repulse,  but,  un- 
dismayed, turned  at  once  to  new  movements.  They 
were  about  to  advance  now  in  concert  and  with  all  their 
strength.  The  Southern  trumpets  which  had  been 
heard  first  west  of  the  town,  then  northwest,  and  then 
north,  now  sounded  from  the  northeast  too.  The  in- 
vading force  enveloped  Gettysburg  in  a  great  semi- 
circle, a  gray  coil,  which  was  to  compress  and  crush 
everything  within  its  folds.  Ewell,  the  Southern  gen- 
eral, looked  down  from  a  ridge,  and  saw  three  Southern 
brigades  approaching  from  the  east  side  of  Eock  Creek, 
the  stream  whose  banks  were  so  high  in  places  that  it 
seemed  to  form  a  natural  barrier,  and  he  rejoiced,  know- 
ing that  another  fold  of  the  Southern  coil  was  now  clos- 
ing in  on  Gettysburg. 

Some  of  these  new  troops,  coming  while  the  chances 
of  the  battle  still  fluctuated,  were  from  the  farthest 
South,  and  among  them  were  the  Georgians,  tall,  big- 
boned  men,  but  fair  like  nearly  all  the  Americans,  now 
a  thousand  miles  from  home,  full  of  courage  and  proud 
of  their  march  into  the  enemy's  country.  The  signal 
was  given  to  these  Georgians  to  cross  the  creek  and  fall 
upon  our  flank,  and  they  obeyed.  Before  them  lay  the 
creek  with  its  fringe  of  willow  trees,  and  beyond  was  a 
field  of  wheat,  shining  like  gold  in  the  sun.  Our  bat- 
teries opened  upon  them  with  many  guns,  but  the 
Georgians  reached  the  rows  of  willows,  and  in  a  moment 
their  gray  uniforms  blended  with  the  greenish  gray  of 
the  trees.     Then  tbey  passed  through  the  fringe  and 


336  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

plunged  clown  the  slopes  of  the  creek,  their  caps  linger- 
ing in  sight  for  a  last  moment  like  long  rows  of  heads 
without  bodies.  Then  they  were  gone,  but  our  artillery 
poured  a  curving  fire  into  the  creek  bed.  The  line  of 
caps  reappeared  on  the  nearer  shore  and  after  them  the 
bodies  of  the  Georgians,  still  advancing  with  the  long 
Southern  stride  that  eats  up  the  ground,  the  lines  in 
even  array,  unbroken  by  the  willows,  the  rocky  gorge, 
the  ascent,  or  the  shells  that  burst  among  them.  They 
raised  their  bayonets  for  a  charge,  and  the  sunlight 
flashed  from  them  in  fire.  In  front  waved  the  banner 
with  a  single  star. 

I  saw  this  advance,  and  I  noticed  the  rapid  play  of 
colour,  the  yellow  of  the  wheat  like  beaten  gold,  the 
steel  of  the  bayonets  like  dark  silver,  the  gray  of  the 
uniforms  shading  off  into  a  weather-stained  brown,  and 
the  faces  of  the  men  growing  eager  as  they  approached 
their  enemy.  On  came  the  Georgians  through  the 
wheat;  the  yellow  straws  twisted  about  them,  some- 
times wound  around  their  bayonets,  and  tried  to  hold 
them  back,  but  they  paid  no  heed  to  such  slender  resist- 
ance, and,  firing  a  volley,  rushed  with  the  bayonet  upon 
our  flank. 

Our  line  crumpled  up  before  their  blow,  and  their 
watchful  general,  beholding  the  result  and  knowing  the 
value  of  successive  strokes,  hurled  fresh  masses  upon  us. 
Once  more  the  combat  became  hand  to  hand,  and, 
spreading  like  a  flame,  raged  along  the  entire  front;  but 
their  general,  not  content  with  one  blow,  or  two,  struck 
three  and  four  and  more,  picking  up  regiments  with  his 
hand,  as  it  were,  and  throwing  them  straight  at  the  vital 
point.  Fortune,  so  fickle,  made  a  decision,  for  the  day 
at  least,  and  she  chose  the  South.  The  issue  could  no 
longer  be  doubtful. 

There  are  few  things  more  terrible  than  the  rout  of 
an  army.  The  success  of  one  is  the  defeat  of  the  other; 
the  glory  of  this  is  the  ruin  of  that,  and  men  are  an 


BATTLES  SHIFT  AND  CHANGE  337 

unreckoned  trifle.  Our  command  was  divided,  order 
and  cohesion  were  lost,  cannon  were  overturned,  men 
knew  not  what  to  do.  The  Southern  general  continued 
to  drive  forward  his  wedge,  and  our  column,  decimated 
by  the  cannon  and  rifles,  racked  through  and  through 
by  many  hours  of  hard  fighting,  split  like  a  rotten  log. 
But  it  had  done  as  much  as  human  flesh  and  bones  could 
stand. 

Then  the  rout  began,  the  wild  pell-mell  of  men  who 
know  that  they  can  not  fight  any  longer,  and  obey  the 
human  impulse,  the  animal  instinct,  to  save  themselves. 
"We  were  all  swept  back  together;  at  some  points  our 
resistance  had  been  successful  at  first,  but  when  the 
main  part  of  the  line  was  crushed  these  detached  de- 
fenders were  involved  in  the  general  wreck,  and  back  all 
were  driven,  the  gallant  Bucktails,  everybody,  a  torrent 
of  fugitives,  beaten  by  bullets  and  cannon  balls,  and 
conscious  that  we  had  fought  so  long  and  so  well,  only 
to  lose.  I  looked  up  at  the  smoky  sun,  and  it  marked 
mid-afternoon. 

"  Isn't  there  time  to  save  the  battle  yet?  "  I  asked 
of  Shaftoe. 

"  There'll  be  no  saving  for  us  unless  we  can  rally 
on  those  hills  yonder,"  replied  the  veteran,  pointing  to 
the  slopes  of  Cemetery  Eidge,  now  gilded  by  the  western 
sun.  "  Bobby  Lee,  if  he's  back  there,  is  not  the  man  to 
let  a  beaten  Yankee  army  retreat  in  carriages." 

The  rout  grew  wilder;  the  people  of  Gettysburg, 
who  had  awaited  with  such  trembling  hopes  through  all 
those  anxious  hours,  saw  it  coming,  and  they  knew  that 
once  again  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  had  won,  as 
it  seemed  destined  always  to  win.  The  Southern  line 
extended  and  pressed  everything  toward  a  common  cen- 
tre, Gettysburg.  It  swept  over  the  hills  and  hollows 
and  past  the  fences  and  stone  walls,  over  the  wreck  of 
regiments  and  batteries,  past  the  slopes  for  whose  pos- 
session they  had  fought  so  long,  and  as  this  line  ap- 


338  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

proached  Gettysburg,  its  semicircle  contracted,  and  the 
line  thickened  and  compressed  our  beaten  army,  con- 
centrating its  fire  upon  it,  and  dealing  it  blows  inces- 
sant, and  steadily  growing  heavier.  Twenty  batteries 
delivered  their  shot  into  the  mass  of  retreating  men,  and 
the  watchers  in  Gettysburg  deemed  us  all  lost. 

The  flight  went  on;  our  beaten  brigades  lost  men 
at  every  step;  only  the  core  of  our  force,  the  body  of  the 
strongest  in  the  centre,  could  hold  together;  beyond 
this  the  regiments  were  shattered,  and  the  wreck  was 
swept  up  like  driftwood  before  a  flood.  Then  our 
crushed  army  fled  through  Gettysburg,  leaving  a  great 
slice  of  itself  there  in  the  enemy's  hands,  toward  the 
hills  beyond. 

The  sun  was  yet  high  above  the  distant  mountains; 
there  was  still  time  before  nightfall  to  take  or  save  an 
army,  and  we  of  the  North,  or  rather  the  fraction  of  us 
still  able  to  fight,  now  witnessed  another  change  of 
leadership  for  which  that  day  was  so  remarkable:  Han- 
cock arrived,  and  by  right  of  rank  superseded  Howard. 
Like  his  predecessors,  his  efforts  were  to  save;  the  bat- 
tle of  that  day  was  lost,  no  one  could  deny  it;  but  there 
would  be  a  to-morrow,  and  one  might  fight  again. 

We  reached  the  slopes  of  Cemetery  Hill  at  last  and 
were  protected  by  some  reserve  men  with  artillery,  who 
had  dug  intrenchments  and  prepared  this  refuge,  so 
welcome  to  the  routed  battalions.  Then  we  could  rest 
a  little  and  look  upon  what  was  left.  But  what  a  sight 
we  saw!  The  battle,  opened  by  mere  detachments,  had 
been  fought  from  first  to  last  by  forty  thousand  men — 
twenty-three  thousand  for  the  South  and  seventeen 
thousand  for  the  North.  Of  those  seventeen  thousand, 
only  a  scant  five  thousand  had  escaped  to  the  hills;  all 
the  others  had  fallen  or  been  taken,  and  the  South  had 
suffered  an  equal  list  of  killed  and  wounded.  From 
Oak  Hill,  through  Gettysburg  to  Cemetery  Eidge,  was 
one  wide  path  of  red  ruin;  the  five  thousand  could  have 


BATTLE'S  SHIFT  AND  CHANGE  339 

the  gloomy  consolation  of  knowing  that  they  had 
fought  all  day,  and  until  two  thirds  of  their  number  had 
been  lost,  a  record  that  few  battlefields  in  the  history  of 
the  world  could  show.  It  was  something  to  know  that 
we  had  fought  so  well  even  if  we  had  lost,  and  we  were 
not  without  this  sanguinary  pride. 

We  took  only  a  few  moments  for  breath,  and  when 
we  felt  the  rugged  slopes  of  the  hills,  the  natural  forti- 
fications under  our  feet,  we  faced  the  enemy  again,  ex- 
pecting a  new  attack  and  ready  to  resist  it;  there  were 
yet  two  or  three  hours  of  sun,  and  an  enemy  so  ener- 
getic as  ours  would  not  leave  us  alone. 

The  attack  did  not  come.  The  Southern  brigades 
were  swarming  in  Gettysburg,  and  some  of  the  generals 
were  eager  to  lead  them  on  against  Cemetery  Hill,  but 
there  was  a  division  of  counsels,  and  they  lingered. 
Our  troops  at  once  reformed  their  lines,  posted  their 
artillery,  made  new  breastworks,  and  waited;  meanwhile 
Slocum  arrived  and  superseded  Hancock,  being  the 
sixth  man  to  command  the  Northern  army  on  that 
remarkable  day. 

The  sun  set  on  the  red  battlefield,  the  town,  the 
hills,  the  thousands  of  fallen  and  the  soldiers  who 
waited.  The  thunder  and  crash  of  the  battle  sank 
to  the  intermittent  crackle  of  musketry,  and  then  to 
the  hum  and  rumble  of  voices  and  marching  men. 

The  day  ended.  The  dying,  turning  their  eyes  to 
the  west,  saw  above  the  hills  the  last  red  glow  of  the 
sunken  sun. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE    CLICKING    OF   THE    WIRES 

The  momentary  silence  that  followed  the  crash  of 
the  battle  was  heavy  and  threatening;  after  so  much 
noise,  it  seemed  strange  and  against  Nature.  The  night 
sank  down  suddenly  upon  the  field  and  blotted  out  the 
towns  and  hills,  and  through  the  darkness  came  no 
sound;  then  a  rumble  sprang  up  and  swelled;  the  lights 
began  to  twinkle  on  hill  and  valley  and  in  the  town. 

The  rumble  increased,  and  the  lights  grew  like 
bunches  of  fireworks  igniting.  The  two  armies  turned 
to  work;  this  was  to  be  no  night  of  rest;  the  battle  of 
that  day,  the  1st  of  July,  had  been  fought  by  the  two 
vanguards,  but  a  fourth  of  the  total.  By  the  next  day- 
light all  would  be  there,  and  nearly  two  hundred  thou- 
sand men  would  stand  face  to  face  for  the  final  test. 
We  knew  now  that  the  great  moment  had  come,  and 
within  the  narrow  valley  between  the  ridges,  upon 
which  the  remains  of  the  two  vanguards  stood,  the  fate 
of  a  nation  would  be  decided;  the  veterans  of  a  hundred 
battles,  they  recognised  the  crisis.  While  generals  and 
colonels  had  been  planning,  and  guessing,  and  trying  to 
name  the  place  upon  which  the  decisive  battle  would  be 
fought,  Fate,  careless  of  them  all,  had  chosen  already 
the  unknown  little  town  of  Gettysburg.  There  it  lay, 
in  the  hands  of  the  South  now,  its  few  feeble  lights 
flaring  in  the  darkness,  its  frightened  inhabitants  who 
340 


THE  CLICKING  OF  THE   WIRES  341 

had  not  fled  or  joined  the  defenders  trembling  in  their 
homes — a  respectable,  modest  little  town,  shuddering 
under  the  terrible  honour  that  had  been  thrust  upon 
it  unsought. 

Shaftoe  and  I  were  working  at  an  embankment, 
and  we  rested  a  few  moments  to  stare  into  the  valley 
and  at  the  threatening  ridge  that  lay  over  against  ours. 
We  were  silent;  even  Shaftoe,  the  philosopher,  hard- 
ened as  he  was  by  thirty  years  of  war,  was  awed;  he 
knew  better  than  I  that  the  carnage  we  had  seen  that 
day  was  but  the  beginning. 

The  vapours  and  the  battle  smoke  floated  over  the 
field  and  permeated  the  air.  The  night  sank  down, 
close,  heavy,  and  portentous.  The  lights  increased  in 
number,  but  became  dimmer.     The  rumble  grew. 

The  activity  of  the  two  armies  went  on — not  the 
energy  of  battle,  but  the  energy  of  preparation,  and 
never  was  there  greater  need  of  it.  Lee  himself,  the 
South's  great  commander,  arrived  before  sunset  and 
surveyed  the  field,  so  brilliantly  won  by  his  vanguard. 
He  might  have  ordered,  before  the  night  became  im- 
pervious, another  attack  upon  our  beaten  remnants  as 
they  lay  exhausted  and  gasping  on  Cemetery  Hill,  but 
he  did  not.  Some  of  his  generals  have  criticised  him 
for  his  failure  to  do  so,  but  whether  they  were  right  or 
not  the  historians  do  not  agree.  Silent,  impenetrable,  a 
man  who  never  claimed  credit  and  never  shunned  blame, 
he  let  the  world  judge  him  as  it  chose. 

Perhaps  he  saw  difficulties  that  his  generals  did  not 
see.  Perhaps  he  was  lamenting  the  absence  of  the 
brilliant,  too  brilliant  Stuart,  with  his  ten  thousand 
cavalrymen,  gone  now  some  days  on  a  fruitless  raid 
around  our  army;  but,  whatever  the  cause,  he  did  not 
attack  when  we  were  least  able  to  stand  it. 

Meade,  too,  a  slender  man  wearing  eyeglasses  and 
not  of  imposing  appearance,  came  soon  after  nightfall. 
Hancock,  grasping  the  full  measure  and  meaning  of  the 


342  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

battle,  had  sent  messengers  for  him,  and  not  waiting  for 
them  to  arrive,  went  in  person  to  tell  what  he  had  seen 
and  to  bring  his  commander-in-chief.  Thus  Meade 
rode  in  the  dark  along  the  hilltop,  and  by  the  flaring 
camp  fires  looked  upon  the  field  which  his  vanguard 
had  so  gallantly  lost. 

Meade,  like  the  Southern  leader,  was  cool;  he,  too, 
sent  messengers  for  troops,  and  all  through  the  night  he 
studied  the  field,  noting  the  points  for  defence,  putting 
the  newly  arrived  regiments  in  place,  hurrying  more 
messengers  for  others,  and  detailing  to  generals  the 
duties  of  the  next  day — the  day  which  all  expected  to 
bring  forth  so  much. 

That  night  witnessed  a  wonderful  gathering  of  men. 
Gettysburg  became  a  centre  to  which  all  things  tended. 
From  the  two  great  semicircles  of  lights  facing  each 
other  on  Seminary  Ridge  and  Cemetery  Hill  radiated 
lines  of  other  and  fainter  lights,  flickering  and  dying 
away  in  the  darkness;  many  roads  came  to  Gettysburg, 
and  along  all  these  the  troops  were  marching.  It 
seemed  a  singular  circumstance  that  the  Southern  sol- 
dier came  chiefly  out  of  the  north,  and  the  Northern 
chiefly  out  of  the  south,  each  turning  his  back  to  the 
hostile  section. 

The  regiments  came  to  both  armies  all  through  the 
night,  muddy,  patient,  enduring,  ready  to  kill  or  be 
killed,  according  to  order.  The  hostile  lines  extended 
to  north  and  to  south  as  the  new  regiments  and  bri- 
gades took  their  places,  and  the  flickering  fires  bent  in 
two  great  semicircles. 

The  full  moon  came  out  and  lighted  up  the  ridges, 
the  columns  and  clefts  of  stone,  the  sombre,  cave-like 
hollows  and  the  unequal  summits  of  Eound  Top  and 
Little  Eound  Top,  the  two  steep  hills  that  stood 
like  huge  towers  dominating  the  field,  tried  in  vain 
to  penetrate  the  chasm  of  the  Devil's  Den,  and  threw 
its   light   over   the   soldiers   who   slept   in   thousands 


THE  CLICKING  OF  THE  WIRES  343 

along  the  slopes,  and  the  dead  who  lay  in  the  valley 
below. 

The  tombstones  in  the  old  cemetery  were  cold  and 
white  in  the  moonlight;  that  cemetery  was  full  of  men, 
the  living  sleeping  above  the  dead,  Northern  soldiers 
covering  all  the  spaces  between  the  stones.  Meade  and 
his  staff  passed  among  them  after  midnight,  picking 
their  way  in  order  not  to  step  on  the  sleepers,  but  too 
busy  with  the  work  of  the  morning  to  draw  any  signifi- 
cance from  the  place.  The  general  walked  on,  and  the 
sleeping  soldiers  remained  motionless  under  the  shadow 
of  the  tombstones. 

As  hour  after  hour  passed,  the  ring  of  bayonets  and 
gun  muzzles  contracted,  closing  in  tighter  on  Gettys- 
burg, and  the  two  armies  grew.  But  forty  thousand 
combined  in  the  first  day's  fighting,  the  numbers  soon 
rose  to  forty  thousand  each  and  then  passed  on.  The 
regiments  crowded  each  other;  the  artillery  was  massed 
in  batteries  along  all  the  hillsides,  and  the  artillerymen 
slept  beside  their  guns. 

It  was  a  singular  scene  to  one  not  animated  by  the 
feelings  of  those  who  were  to  have  a  part  in  the  vast 
tragedy — the  long,  dim  slopes,  the  lights,  the  forms  of 
the  recumbent  men  almost  hidden  in  the  dusk,  the  som- 
bre hills  and  rocks  looking  down  in  silence  upon  them, 
the  vapours  and  patches  of  smoke  that  still  drifted  aim- 
lessly about,  the  soothing  rumble  like  the  heave  of  the 
sea  upon  the  coast,  and  the  full  moon  throwing  its  fan- 
tastic light  that  touched  everything  and  made  it  ghostly 
and  unreal.  This  was  some  old  battlefield,  some  battle- 
field of  ancient  times,  a  Cannae  or  a  Metaurus  seen  at 
night! 

Throughout  all  that  night,  while  the  two  armies 
were  converging  upon  Gettysburg  and  the  dead  of  the 
first  day's  battle  yet  lay  upon  the  field,  silvered  by  the 
moonlight,  the  telegraph  wires  were  clicking,  and  thirty 
million  people  were  asking  what  had  become  of  their 


344  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

armies.  The  battle  for  a  continent  and  a  nation  was  to 
be  fought  upon  an  area  of  five  square  miles,  and  all  who 
were  gathering  there  knew  it;  but  over  an  area  of  three 
million  square  miles  ignorance  as  dark  as  the  night  it- 
self prevailed.  Mingled  with  this  ignorance  was  an  un- 
certainty, a  doubt  far  more  trying.  In  the  South  there 
were  fewer  telegraphs  and  newspapers,  and  less  general 
knowledge  about  the  invasion,  but  in  the  North  misin- 
formation was  free  to  everybody,  and  the  alarm — the 
justifiable  alarm — caused  by  the  advance  of  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia  was  deepened  when  it  and  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  disappeared  in  the  Pennsylvania 
country,  and  no  man  knew  when  or  how  they  would 
emerge. 

Wherever  the  telegraph  wires  reached,  their  clicking 
went  on,  bearing  a  message  of  anxiety  and  question;  in 
New  York,  in  Philadelphia,  in  Boston,  in  Chicago,  and 
to  the  tiny  hamlets  in  the  woods,  "  Where  are  the 
armies  and  when  will  they  meet?  "  It  was  asked  in  the 
drawing-rooms,  where  many  lights  glittered,  and  in 
the  one-room  log  house  of  some  far  Northwestern  town, 
where  the  only  light  was  that  of  the  dying  coals  flicker- 
ing over  the  puncheon  floor,  and  in  each  the  doubt  and 
fear  were  the  same. 

In  Washington,  a  haggard  man,  old  beyond  his 
years,  his  face  seamed  into  ugliness,  and  his  eyes  melan- 
choly, was  the  most  anxious  of  them  all.  It  had  been 
for  him  to  decide  this  war;  all  the  power  of  the  North 
had  been  placed  in  his  hands;  he  was  for  the  time  being 
an  equal  despot  with  a  Czar;  the  armies  and  navies  were 
at  his  command;  he  could  make  and  unmake  generals  as 
he  chose;  he  could  plan  the  campaigns  if  he  wished;  all 
the  resources  of  a  nation  were  in  his  hands  to  risk  as  he 
pleased;  he  had  done  his  best  without  any  thought  of 
glorification  or  gain  of  any  kind,  and  so  far  had  won 
but  little  success;  he  had  seen  his  generals  one  after  an- 
other beaten,  and  now  the  enemy  so  often  the  invaded 


THE  CLICKING  OF  THE  WIRES  345 

had  become  the  invader.  Instead  of  using  the  resources 
of  a  nation  to  crush  his  antagonist,  he  was  compelled  to 
use  them  in  defence  of  that  nation. 

This  man  of  imperial  power  who  carried  the  fate 
of  thirty  million  people  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  was 
as  ignorant  to-night  as  the  humblest  farmer  in  the 
Northwestern  woods.  The  armies  had  slipped  from 
him,  disappearing  in  the  darkness;  the  Army  of  North- 
ern Virginia  had  gone  into  obscurity,  and  with  it  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  the  sole  defence  against  it.  No 
one  would  wish  to  have  been  in  his  place  that  night,  to 
feel  his  fears  and  doubts  and  responsibility  as  he  vain- 
ly traced  lines  on  the  map  and  tried  to  follow  the  two 
armies,  only  to  lose  them  always  in  the  wilderness  of 
Pennsylvania  roads  and  hills.  There  are  times  when 
one  does  not  wish  to  have  imperial  power,  to  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  fate  of  thirty  million  people. 

The  wires  that  clicked  so  volubly,  clicked  to  his 
questions,  too,  but  they  brought  no  answer;  they 
searched  the  darkness,  they  sent  the  question  along  to 
each  Pennsylvania  hamlet,  and  then  they  ran  it  out 
through  the  woods,  until  it  stopped  suddenly  at  the 
end  of  a  wire  cut  through  by  some  army  sabre.  And 
always  the  answer  came  back  to  Washington,  "  Noth- 
ing! "  None  of  these  questions  could  reach  Gettysburg; 
it  was  still  an  unknown  place  to  all  the  world  save 
to  the  two  armies  that  converged  upon  it  in  the 
darkness  and  whose  vanguards  had  fought  there;  its 
sombre  fame  had  begun  for  itself,  but  not  yet  for 
others. 

That  was  the  answer  everywhere  to  all  the  clicking 
of  wires,  "  Nothing!  "  Eumours  and  reports  came  in 
plenty,  but  the  people  had  fed  on  them  until  they 
turned  at  the  taste;  they  wanted  something  more  solid, 
and  they  sneered  at  invention.  The  two  armies  were 
lost,  swallowed  up,  and  all  the  telegraph  wires  of  the 
United  States  could  not  find  them. 


346  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

The  wires  clicked  on  all  through  the  night  and 
carried  the  same  question  over  and  over  again  to  their 
uttermost  ends,  but  the  answer  never  varied — "  Noth- 
ing! nothing!  "  The  thirty  million  people,  North  and 
South  alike,  were  helpless;  they  had  put  their  cause  in 
the  hands  of  two  champions,  their  armies,  and  these 
would  decide  the  issue  there  in  the  darkness,  without 
spectators  and  the  cheers  of  friends. 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    TALE   THAT   PEMBEOKE   TOLD 

But  I  saw  little  of  the  gathering  armies  on  that 
night  and  heard  none  of  the  clicking  wires.  The  most 
of  it  was  told  to  me  afterward;  even  the  chances  of  the 
great  battle  suddenly  became  of  much  less  importance 
in  my  mind,  a  message  brought  by  one  I  knew  causing 
this  abrupt  change  in  the  course  of  my  attention.  It 
was  Mason  who  came.  He  found  me  early  in  the  night, 
lying  on  the  slope  of  Cemetery  Hill  and  gazing  at  the 
opposite  ridge  that  threatened  us. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  more  than  an  hour," 
he  said.  "  A  friend  of  ours  from  the  other  side  is  badly 
wounded  and  a  prisoner." 

"Who  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"  Pembroke." 

Poor  Pembroke!  I  was  shoeked.  My  personal 
friends,  except  in  the  case  of  Tourville,  and  his  wound 
evidently  was  slight,  had  escaped  the  bullets  so  far,  and 
in  a  vague  way  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  would  con- 
tinue to  do  so.  I  went  at  once  with  Mason,  and  Shaftoe 
accompanied  us.  We  had  lost  our  own  command  long 
since,  fighting  with  whatsoever  body  of  troops  we  chose, 
and  we  were  free  to  go  where  it  pleased  us  to  go. 

"  It  was  in  one  of  the  last  charges  that  the  rebels 
made,"  said  Mason,  as  we  picked  our  way  among  the 
hurt.  "  We  beat  them  off  for  a  little  while,  but  the 
23  347 


348  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

fighting  had  been  so  close  that  they  left  several  wound- 
ed with  us.  Pembroke  was  among  them  and  I  helped 
bring  him  up  the  hill.  He's  badly  hit,  though  the  sur- 
geon says  he'll  recover,  but  he  asked  for  you  at  once. 
He  has  something  to  tell  you  that  you  must  know." 

We  found  Pembroke  lying  on  Mason's  blanket  near 
the  crest  of  Cemetery  Hill.  He  was  hit  in  the  shoulder, 
and,  having  lost  considerable  blood,  looked  pale  and 
extremely  weak,  but  he  had  received  the  most  careful 
attention  and  evidently  was  suffering  little  pain.  A 
camp  fire  burned  near  him,  and  many  soldiers  were 
lying  on  the  ground,  sleeping  so  soundly  that  they 
looked  like  the  dead.  Pembroke  smiled  faintly  when 
he  saw  me. 

"  It's  a  change  of  place  since  we  met  last,  eh, 
Henry?"  he  said.  "Then  you  were  the  prisoner  and 
now  it's  I.  But  don't  please  yourself  too  much;  Bobby 
Lee's  coming  to-morrow  to  take  me  back,  and  all  you 
Yankees  with  me." 

I  knelt  beside  him,  grieved  at  the  hurt  of  this  true 
friend,  but  he  ridiculed  his  wound  and  deprecated  sym- 
pathy. 

"Just  one  little  bullet!"  he  said.  "Why,  we've 
men  in  our  army  who  have  been  shot  fifteen  or  sixteen 
times,  and  they  improve  with  each  wound.  You've 
heard  of  the  German  general  who  said,  '  Eaw  troops 
need  to  be  shooted,  over  a  little.'  Well,  ours  never 
reach  their  best  until  they  are  '  shooted '  through  a 
few  times!  But  let  that  go;  it's  something  else  that  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about.     She's  over  there." 

He  pointed  toward  the  hill  where  the  Southern 
lights  twinkled  and  passed  and  repassed  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  I  knew  whom  he  meant. 

"  Yes,  she's  there,  and  so  is  Varian,"  continued  Pem- 
broke; "  and  I  tell  you  he  is  not  to  be  trusted.  We 
don't  trust  him  ourselves.  I've  much  to  tell  you  that 
concerns  Elinor  and  you  most  nearly.     He,  Varian,  was 


THE  TALE  THAT  PEMBROKE  TOLD  349 

fierce  when  he  heard  of  your  escape  the  night  of  the 
play  in  Libby.  He  said  there  was  collusion;  he  in- 
timated that  you  had  been  helped  by  your  Southern 
friends;  that  otherwise  you  could  not  have  escaped  from 
the  city,  even  after  getting  out  of  the  prison.  He  re- 
newed his  claims  for  Elinor,  saying  that  this  marriage 
of  yours  must  be  annulled;  he  seemed  to  forget  that 
man  and  wife  can  not  be  separated,  in  our  time,  without 
the  consent  of  at  least  one  of  them,  and  his  influence 
was  so  great  that  I  do  not  know  what  he  would  not 
have  succeeded  in  doing  if  the  unexpected  had  not  hap- 
pened. There  came  a  rumour  to  Eichmond  and  the 
army  that  Varian  was  not  so  confident  of  our  ultimate 
success  as  he  used  to  be.  We  had  failed  to  secure  the 
alliance  of  any  of  the  European  powers — you  know  how 
we  relied  upon  him  to  do  that  work  for  us,  and  you 
know  his  ambition  and  love  of  place  and  power.  He 
was  disappointed,  too,  because  you  were  not  punished 
for  what  he  considered  a  crime  against  himself;  and,  in 
short,  Henry,  it  was  said  that  he  was  not  true  to  us, 
that  he  was  willing  to  be  tempted  if  anybody  was  will- 
ing to  make  the  temptation  great.  I  do  not  understand 
what  his  views  of  life  and  honour  are;  he  seems  to  have 
a  code  somewhat  different  from  ours,  but  it  never  be- 
came more  than  a  whisper.  It  was  said  that  Stonewall 
Jackson  had  the  proofs  and  meant  to  use  them,  but  he 
was  killed  a  few  days  later  at  Chancellorsville,  and  what 
he  knew  no  one  now  knows.  However,  it  weakened  his 
power  and  influence  in  our  government,  and  suddenly 
he  ceased  to  make  complaints  against  any  of  us  who 
were  your  friends,  or  to  demand  higher  rewards.  They 
say,  though,  that  he  fought  brilliantly  at  Chancellors- 
ville, and  even  now  he  has  an  important  command  over 
there  on  the  hill.  You  see,  with  nothing  but  a  whisper 
against  him,  and  that  silenced  with  Stonewall  Jackson's 
death,  they  could  not  displace  him  after  the  real  service 
he  has  done  for  our  cause." 


350  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Pembroke  was  now  silent  a  little  and  thoughtful, 
and  I  waited  until  returning  strength  would  permit  him 
to  resume  his  narrative. 

"  It  was  directly  after  Chancellorsville,"  he  con- 
tinued presently,  "  that  the  quarrel  between  Tourville 
and  Blanchard  occurred,  and  that  concerned  Elinor  and 
you  too." 

"Blanchard — that  scoundrel!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ay,  a  scoundrel  he  was,  but  he  will  never  trouble 
any  one  again.  I  think  that  you  owe  Tourville  a  debt 
of  thanks.  I  do  not  approve  of  the  duel  which  usually 
decides  in  favour  of  might  rather  than  right,  but  this 
one  of  Tourville  and  Blanchard  was  an  exception. 
Blanchard,  you  know,  was  the  most  faithful  ally  of 
Varian — Varian  must  have  saved  him  from  some  great 
embarrassment  in  Europe — and  wished  to  help  him  in 
all  his  purposes.  He  cherished,  too,  a  fine  hatred  of 
you,  so  his  desires  accorded  well  with  his  master's.  It 
was  a  few  days  after  your  escape — Blanchard  said  it  was 
treason  that  helped  you,  and  then  he  mentioned  Elinor's 
name.  He  said  that  he  did  not  understand  her  affection 
for  you,  but  that  Varian  would  get  her  yet,  if  not  with 
marriage  then  without  it;  and  then  Tourville,  who  heard 
him,  stopped  his  foul  mouth  with  his  fist.  Blanchard 
demanded  a  duel,  according  to  the  custom  of  France 
and  Germany,  saying  that  it  was  the  alternative  of 
brave  men.  You  know  Tourville,  rash  and  hot-blooded, 
but  good  of  heart — he  accepted  instantly  and  chose 
swords,  the  very  weapon  that  Blanchard  wanted.  Gen- 
eral Lee,  of  course,  would  not  permit  a  duel  in  his  army 
if  he  knew  it,  but  he  can  not  know  everything.  They 
fought  just  at  daylight  in  a  little  wood  barely  inside  our 
lines.  De  Courcelles  was  Tourville's  second,  and  one  of 
Blanchard's  men  acted  for  him.  Blanchard  was  openly 
exultant,  sure  that  he  would  kill  Tourville,  but  five 
minutes  after  the  duel  began  he  was  a  dead  man,  thrust 
squarely  through  the  heart,  and  Tourville  did  not  have  a 


THE  TALE  THAT  PEMBROKE  TOLD  351 

wound  upon  him.  "We  have  never  told  of  it  to  Elinor. 
She  has  heard  that  Blanchard  is  dead,  but  she  thinks 
that  he  fell  in  a  cavalry  skirmish." 

He  was  silent  again  for  a  little  while,  and  I  felt 
that  I  could  never  repay  Tourville.  Then  I  noticed 
that  Pembroke  was  looking  at  me  curiously,  as  if  he 
were  making  a  study  of  me.  But  I  waited  again  for 
him  to  speak  of  his  own  accord. 

"  Henry,"  he  said,  "  Elinor  Maynard  is  your  wife, 
but  you  do  not  know  what  a  woman  she  is,  or  rather 
what  a  woman  will  do  for  the  man  whom  she  loves. 
Would  any  woman  ever  do  as  much  for  me?  " 

I  looked  at  him  in  the  deepest  surprise. 

"  I  have  been  holding  this  back,"  he  said,  "  and  it's 
another  cause  why  the  favour  of  Varian  has  declined. 
It  is  a  tale  that  Major  Titus  Tyler  brought  to  Rich- 
mond after  he  recovered  from  the  wound  that  he  re- 
ceived in  the  Valley  of  Virginia." 

My  surprise  increased.  Major  Tyler's  name  had 
been  mentioned  that  night  when  Lee  and  Jackson  came 
to  see  me  in  Libby. 

"  And  the  story  that  Major  Tyler  tells,"  he  resumed, 
"  seems  incredible,  but  the  major  swears  that  it's  true — 
you  know  that  he  never  lies — arid  we,  who  know  Elinor, 
believe  that  he  is  not  mistaken.  'He  says  that  Varian 
and  Blanchard,  or  rather  Blanchard,  because  he  planned 
it  and  Varian  merely  shut  his  eyes  to  it,  intended  to  kill 
you  that  night  you  escaped  from  them  in  the  Valley  of 
Virginia.  The  way  for  you  to  escape  was  to  be  left 
open,  and  was  to  be  so  obvious  that  you  must  accept  the 
chance.  Elinor  heard  of  it — it  seems  from  Major  Tyler 
himself  before  whom  Blanchard  spoke  incautiously — 
and  she  took  your  place  that  you  might  escape  in  an- 
other way,  because  she  believed  that  if  they  did  not  kill 
you  that  night  they  would  soon  find  another  pretext  for 
doing  it.  It  was  very  easy  for  them  to  mistake  her  for 
you  in  the  darkness,  and  the  rain,  and  the  confusion, 


352  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

but,  in  some  strange  or  perhaps  providential  way,  she 
escaped  all  their  bullets.  Major  Tyler  says  that  Varian 
himself,  seeing  her  about  to  escape,  and  believing  that  it 
was  you,  fired  at  her.  Now  that  he  knows  his  mistake 
and  sees  what  she  will  do  for  a  man  whom  she  loves,  his 
love  for  her  has  become  fire.  He  swears  that  no  matter 
what  happens  she  must  belong  to  him,  that  he  alone  is 
worthy  of  a  woman  capable  of  such  an  act.  I  felt  from 
the  first  that  the  major's  story  was  true,  but  the  hitch 
comes  with  Elinor.  I  told  it  to  my  sister  Mary,  and, 
full  of  the  wonderful  tale,  she  ran  at  once  to  Elinor  to 
ask  her  about  it.  But  Elinor  will  not  say  a  word;  you 
can  not  talk  to  her  about  it,  unless  you  enjoy  talking  to 
a  stone  wall." 

I  knew  in  my  heart  too  that  it  was  true.  I  could 
see  it  now,  looking  back  at  all  the  circumstances.  I 
was  filled  with  a  deep  joy  and  pride  that  Elinor  was  my 
wife,  and  I  acknowledged  humbly  to  myself  that  I  was 
unworthy  of  her.  I  was  silent,  looking  across  the  val- 
ley at  the  southern  ridge  where  Pembroke  said  that  she 
was,  and  he,  too,  weak  from  his  wound,  again  remained 
a  little  while  without  speaking. 

"  Why  is  she  over  yonder?  "  I  asked  at  last,  point- 
ing toward  the  hostile  lights. 

"  She  tried  to  go  to  her  uncle  in  Washington,"  he 
replied.  "  It  was  because  she  believed  you  were  there, 
but  she  could  not  get  away  from  Richmond.  It  was  no 
fault  of  ours,  but  the  authorities  were  too  busy  with 
preparations  for  the  present  invasion  to  arrange  the 
transfer  of  a  girl  from  Richmond  to  Washington.  But 
when  she  heard  that  we  were  going  to  invade  the  North 
she  insisted  upon  following.  She  wished  to  serve  as  a 
nurse  attached  to  one  of  the  travelling  hospitals,  and 
God  knows  that  both  sides  have  ample  need  of  nurses! 
It  may  be  that  she  hoped  for  an  opportunity  to  reach 
you.  Yes,  she's  over  there.  I  saw  her  this  morning 
before  that  pestiferous  little  bullet  stretched  me  on  my 


THE  TALE  THAT  PEMBROKE  TOLD  353 

back,  and  she  is  well.  Varian  is  there  too;  and  look 
after  her  if  you  can,  Henry,  because  the  man  is  mad 
with  love  of  her,  and  to  have  his  own  way  he  will  scruple 
at  nothing.     He  would  kill  her  rather  than  lose  her." 

Pembroke's  story  was  finished,  and  he  was  right 
when  he  said  that  it  concerned  me  deeply.  Mason  and 
Shaftoe  with  instinctive  delicacy  had  drawn  away  when 
he  began,  that  they  might  not  hear,  but  now  they  re- 
turned to  his  side. 

"  Pembroke,"  I  said,  "  I  owe  you  too  much  to  make 
you  any  promise  of  repayment." 

He  smiled  faintly. 

"  What  little  I  have  done,"  he  replied,  "  is  for  her 
as  much  as  for  you." 

There  was  no  more  that  we  could  do  for  him,  and 
presently  he  closed  his  eyes,  saying  that  he  would  sleep. 
Then  I  walked  away  in  the  darkness  and  down  the  slope 
toward  the  dividing  valley.  My  mind  was  quite  made 
up.  But  before  I  went  far,  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon 
my  shoulder,  and  turning  I  saw  Shaftoe. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  going  up  yonder,"  I  replied,  pointing  toward 
the  Southern  position. 

"  You  are  crazy,"  he  said. 

"  No,  Shaftoe,  my  wife  is  up  there  and  she  is  in 
great  danger.  If  you  were  in  my  place  you  would  go 
as  I  am  going." 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  do  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  shall  put  on  a  Southern  uniform;  it  is  easy  to 
get  one." 

I  pointed  to  a  cluster  of  the  dead  not  far  away. 

"  And  be  caught  and  hanged  as  a  spy!  " 

"  I  must  risk  it,  Shaftoe." 

He  said  no  more,  except  to  mutter,  "  It's  a  fool- 
hardy thing,"  and  turned  away. 

I  stole  down  a  little  ravine,  and  then  fell  in  behind 
a  burying-party,  passing  with  it  our  farthest  sentinels, 


354  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

and  was  soon  in  the  heart  of  the  valley  where  the  dead 
lay  thickest.  Informal  burying  parties  from  both  sides 
were  traversing  the  field,  and  occasionally  exchanging 
a  nod  as  they  passed,  none  exhibiting  the  slightest  hos- 
tility toward  one  another.  I  let  the  party  which  I  had 
followed  go  on  without  me,  stealing  away  again  toward 
the  darkest  place  that  I  could  find,  and  there,  conquer- 
ing my  repulsion,  I  removed  the  uniform  from  a  dead 
Confederate  soldier,  substituting  it  for  my  own.  Then 
I  advanced  boldly  toward  Seminary  Ridge. 


CHAPTER   XLI 


A   MAN   BOKN   TOO    LATE 


I  "walked  with  a  beating  heart  up  the  slope  of  Sem- 
inary Ridge  and  toward  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia, 
which  lay  before  me.  I  was  resolved  that  Elinor  should 
not  remain  longer  where  Varian  could  reach  her.  I  be- 
lieved, too,  that  I  would  succeed,  despite  the  dangers. 
An  army  resting  from  one  great  battle,  and  spending 
the  few  hours  between  in  preparation  for  another,  was 
not  likely  to  pay  much  attention  to  a  straggler  or  two. 

A  Southern  picket  soon  hailed  me,  and,  advancing, 
I  said  that  I  was  an  escaped  prisoner  taken  a  few  days 
before  by  the  Yankees  in  a  cavalry  skirmish.  My  own 
command,  I  added,  was  somewhere  with  Stuart,  I  sup- 
posed, but  I  wanted  to  serve  again,  and  where  I  was 
needed  most.  He  jerked  his  finger  over  his  shoulder, 
pointed  toward  the  camp  fires,  and  said  nothing  more. 

I  walked  slowly  on,  gaining  boldness  at  every  step 
as  success  attended  me,  and  not  forgetting,  even  in  my 
eager  search  for  Elinor,  to  look  curiously  at  the  camp 
that  was  now  all  around  me.  It  was  much  like  ours — 
full  of  sleeping,  wounded,  or  exhausted  men,  while  the 
unceasing  rumble  of  preparations  or  of  arriving  troops 
sounded  in  my  ears.  The  camp  fires  wavered  in  long, 
irregular  lines,  and  beside  one,  talking  to  his  generals, 
was  a  large  man  whom  I  knew  to  be  General  Lee.  But  I 
did  not  choose  to  go  near  him,  turning  instead  toward 
the  rear,  where  the  surgeons  and  the  nurses  would  be. 

355 


356  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

My  task  so  far  was  easier  than  I  had  expected,  and 
yet  I  should  have  known  that  it  would  be  simple  work 
within  the  camp,  their  sentinels  once  passed.  The  dif- 
ficulty would  come  when  I  wished  to  get  out  again. 
Thousands  of  soldiers  were  passing  and  repassing  me, 
seeking  their  positions  for  the  morrow,  and  some  were 
straggling.  I  was  only  one  man  among  sixty  thousand 
doing  as  many  others  were  doing,  and  nobody  noticed 
me.  I  made  my  way  slowly  toward  the  rear  of  the  army, 
thinking  it  well  not  to  be  too  eager,  and  now  and  then 
exchanging  a  word  with  a  wandering  soldier  like  myself. 
An  officer  once  hailed  me  roughly  and  asked  me  where 
my  regiment  was  placed.  "  Over  there/'  I  said,  point- 
ing in  the  way  in  which  I  was  going.  "  Then  see  that 
you  join  it  at  once !  "  he  said  sharply.  "  All  right, 
sir,"  I  replied,  touching  my  hat  respectfully  and  going 
on  about  my  business  while  he  continued  on  his. 

It  was  easy  to  find  where  the  wounded  lay,  and  I 
still  drifted  about  watching  for  a  chance  to  see  Elinor. 
I  knew  that  she  would  be  there  helping,  and  presently  I 
saw  her.  I  could  never  mistake  her  figure,  although  it 
was  outlined  but  dimly  in  the  darkness.  She  came  to- 
ward the  camp  fire,  strong  and  lithe,  and  I  moved  into 
her  path,  staggering  as  if  I  were  a  wounded  or  drunken 
man.  She  was  about  to  step  aside,  but  raising  my  head 
I  gazed  into  her  eyes. 

I  saw  the  instant  look  of  recognition  and  joy  upon 
her  face  like  a  flash  of  sunlight,  but  she  said  not  a 
word.  Elinor  was  not  like  other  women.  Her  courage, 
her  command  of  herself,  were  beyond  compare.  It  was 
the  soul  in  her  rather  than  her  beauty  that  made  more 
than  one  man  love  her  so. 

"  Will  you  help  me  with  this?  "  she  asked  at  length, 
and  then  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  that  she  carried  in 
either  hand  a  pail  of  water. 

"  It  is  for  the  wounded,"  she  said;  "  and  there  are 
many  who  need  it  to-night." 


A  MAN  BORN  TOO   LATE  357 

I  took  the  pail  and  slouched  behind  her  as  if  I  were 
some  camp  follower,  detailed  to  help  her  with  this  heavy- 
work. 

"  Why  have  you  come?  "  she  asked  over  her  shoul- 
der, and  now  I  saw  the  anxiety  in  her  voice.  "  Do  you 
know  that  it  is  death  if  you  are  caught?  It  is  a  joy  to 
see  you,  oh,  you  know  it,  Henry,  but  not  at  such  a  ter- 
rible risk." 

"  You  risked  your  life  for  me,"  I  replied,  "  and  why 
should  I  not  risk  mine  for  you?  " 

I  leaned  forward  and  saw  the  sudden  flush  of  rosy 
colour  over  her  face.  She  said  nothing,  but  looked  at 
me  with  a  slight  appeal  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  shall  not  stay  long,"  I  said,  "  but  you  are  to  go 
with  me.  I  have  come  for  you.  You  are  in  great 
danger  here." 

We  gave  the  water  to  the  surgeons  and  went  back  for 
more,  I  always  walking  a  little  in  the  rear,  and  filling 
my  role  of  helper. 

"  Pembroke  told  me,"  I  continued.  "  He  is  a  pris- 
oner and  wounded,  but  he  will  not  die." 

"  I  am  glad  that  he  is  not  worse  hurt,"  she  said 
joyfully.  "  We  missed  him,  and  I  was  afraid  that  he 
was  lying  down  there  with  the  dead  who  are  so  many." 

She  pointed  to  the  valley  hidden  by  the  darkness 
and  the  vapours. 

"  He  told  me,"  I  continued,  "  that  Varian  was  here, 
that  he  watched  you  always,  and  that  he  was  daring 
enough  to  attempt  anything.  Therefore  I  came  for 
you.  I  am  your  husband,  and  I  have  the  right  to  claim 
you  wherever  I  find  you,  as  I  now  do." 

She  looked  at  me,  and  I  saw  her  smile. 

"  You  have  no  need  to  claim  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
would  go  without  the  asking."  Then  her  tone  became 
very  grave  as  she  continued:  "  And  it  is  true  that  Va- 
rian is  to  be  feared.  I  fear  him  most  of  all  now,  at 
this  minute;  he  may  be  there  in  the  dark,  where  we  do 


358  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

not  see  him,  watching  us.  He  was  one  of  the  leaders  in 
the  charge  to-day  that  drove  you  through  Gettysburg, 
and  he  performed  such  acts  of  valour  that  General  Lee 
himself  was  forced  to  commend  him,  although  he  dis- 
trusts him.  He  has  spoken  to  me  since  the  battle,  and  I 
feel  that  his  eyes  are  always  upon  me — it  is  not  merely 
the  fear  of  a  timid  woman,  Henry,  it  is  the  truth." 

I  looked  carefully  but  I  did  not  see  Varian  or  any 
one  resembling  him.  I  knew  that  at  all  times  he  was 
our  most  dangerous  enemy,  but  I  did  not  fear  him. 
I  think  that  I  can  say  it  without  boasting.  Where 
we  had  met  hitherto  mine  was  the  disadvantage,  but 
now,  even  here  on  Seminary  Ridge,  with  the  hostile 
lines  about  me,  I  felt  that  I  could  face  him  on  equal 
terms.  We  were  approaching  the  place  where  we  ob- 
tained the  water,  and  I  repeated: 

"  Elinor,  I  have  come  for  you.  Will  you  go  with 
me?" 

"  To  the  end  of  the  world  if  you  wish  it." 

"  This  is  the  road,"  I  said,  and  I  led  the  way  into  the 
darkness  at  the  rear  of  the  Southern  army. 

"  Let  me  go  before,"  she  said  in  a  few  moments. 
"  The  path  will  open  more  readily  for  me  than  for  you." 

She  led  now,  and  we  still  carried  the  pails.  "  We 
wish  fresh  water  for  the  wounded  from  the  creek  over 
there,"  she  said  to  the  first  sentinel,  at  the  same  time 
giving  the  countersign.  He  saluted  with  respect  at 
the  sight  of  a  woman  soc  evidently  engaged  upon  a 
task  of  mercy,  gave  one  glance  at  my  Confederate 
uniform,  and  let  us  go.  We  passed  another  and  then 
another  in  the  same  manner,  and  soon  we  were  out- 
side the  lines.  I  put  down  the  pail  and  took  Elinor  in 
my  arms. 

"  Ah,  my  brave  wife,"  I  said,  "  I  have  you  at  last, 
and  nothing  shall  ever  take  you  from  me  again." 

I  felt  her  soft  young  arms  around  my  neck,  and  she 
clung  to  me  like  a  frightened  child  as  she  had  clung 


A  MAN  BORN  TOO  LATE  359 

once  before.  "  0  Henry,  I  am  so  glad  you  came!  "  was 
all  she  said. 

There  is  a  peculiar  sensitiveness,  a  kind  of  chill 
in  the  air,  that  often  warns  one  of  a  hostile  presence, 
and  suddenly  I  felt  it.  I  looked  up  and  beheld  Varian. 
He  was  as  usual  dressed  in  a  brilliant  uniform,  and  it 
bore  no  marks  of  the  day's  toil  and  struggles.  The  only 
expression  upon  his  face  was  a  faint  look  of  irony;  be- 
yond that  his  eyes  said  nothing.  He  stood  near  us, 
erect,  tall,  and  strong. 

"A  pretty  scene,  a  very  pretty  scene!"  he  said  in 
even  tones.  "  Do  not  think  that  I  intend  sarcasm  or 
ridicule,  for  I  do  not;  and,  frankly,  I  should  enjoy  being 
in  your  place,  Mr.  Kingsford.     I  think  you  know  that." 

"  This  is  not  the  place  to  tell  me  so,"  I  said. 

"  You  may  be  right,"  he  answered,  without  any 
break  in  his  even  tones,  "  but  I  do  not  know  when  I 
shall  have  another  opportunity,  and  I  could  not  let  the 
present  pass  without  profiting  by  it." 

Elinor  stepped  a  little  to  one  side  and  stood  there, 
regarding  us,  her  young  face  expressing  aversion  and 
defiance  too  when  she  looked  at  Varian. 

"  I  have  some  explanations  to  make,  and  perhaps  an 
apology  or  two,"  he  said.  "  You  ought  to  feel  flattered, 
Mr.  Kingsford,  as  I  have  made  few  apologies  in  my  life. 
Do  not  charge  it  to  my  vanity  when  I  say  it;  rather  con- 
sider it  a  weakness.  There  has  been  a  rivalry  between 
us,  and  you  have  triumphed  so  far,  and  yet  at  the  be- 
ginning I  should  have  said  that  all  the  chances  were 
in  my  favour.  I  was  born,  Mr.  Kingsford,  to  have  my 
own  way  in  all  things;  it  was  and  is  my  nature.  I  can 
not  help  it,  so  I  must  hate  any  one  who  obstructs  me. 
It  is  not  the  person  whom  I  really  hate,  but  the  obstruc- 
tion that  he  has  caused.  Please  understand  that  this 
is  the  way  that  I  feel  toward  you.  I  had  the  ambition 
of  war  and  the  ambition  of  love;  I  have  lost  in  the  latter, 
and  it  is  probable  that  I  shall  lose  in  the  former.     It  is 


360  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

a  new  experience,  and  I  do  not  like  it.  I  think  that  I 
was  born  in  the  wrong  age;  I  should  have  belonged  to 
the  antique  world,  where  men  had  vast  power  and  de- 
sires on  the  same  gigantic  scale.  When  I  read  of  those 
old  times  it  fills  me  with  regret  that  I  did  not  live  then, 
or  that  then  is  not  now.  Then  I  could  have  filled  my 
proper  place  in  the  world.  I  should  have  been  one  of 
those  proconsuls  whom  the  Eomans  sent  out  to  govern 
great  provinces;  men  with  palaces,  armies,  millions  of 
revenue,  and  despotic  power.  Then  I  should  have  been 
happy,  and  I  think  that  I  would  have  governed  temper- 
ately and  well,  so  long  as  ho  one  opposed  me.  But  I 
would  have  been  cruel  to  all  opposition.  Do  you  under- 
stand me,  Mr.  Kingsf ord  ?  " 

I  nodded.  Despite  my  anxiety  to  take  Elinor  into 
our  lines,  the  man  held  my  attention.  His  tones  were 
still  smooth  and  even,  but  his  feelings  had  begun  to 
show  in  his  face,  which  was  flushed  faintly.  The  slight 
parting  of  Elinor's  lips  showed  her  deep  interest. 

"  I  am  endeavouring  to  explain  myself,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  in  a  way,  as  I  have  said,  you  may  consider 
it  an  apology,  Mr.  Kingsford,  for  some  of  the  seeming 
wrongs  that  I  have  done  you.  There  are  many  others 
like  me  in  the  modern  world  of  ours,  but  perhaps  they 
have  trimmed  themselves  down  to  the  level  of  the  times 
better  than  I.  Understand  again  that  this  is  not  van- 
ity; it  is  merely  an  explanation  of  what  you  consider 
the  moral  defects  of  my  nature.  When  I  saw  that  you 
were  triumphing  over  me  in  my  dearest  wish,  that  Eli- 
nor Maynard  was  loving  you  when  she  should  have  been 
loving  me,  it  was  the  wrath  of  the  antique  despot  that 
consumed  me.  I  felt  that  you  should  be  thrust  out  of 
the  way,  as  the  antique  master  got  rid  of  a  trouble- 
some slave.  If  Elinor  Maynard  did  not  wish  to  marry 
me,  she  must  marry  me  nevertheless,  just  as  an  Eastern 
princess  is  forced  to  wed  the  king  who  chooses  her. 
But,  believe  me,  I  did  not  intend  at  first  to  trap  you  to 


A  MAN  BORN  TOO  LATE  361 

your  death.  That  scene  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  just 
as  it  occurred,  was  not  suggested  by  me.  It  was  Blan- 
chard,  in  his  zeal  for  me — I  do  not  wish  to  wrong  the 
faithful  fellow's  memory — who  carried  it  so  far,  and  in 
my  passion  I  may  have  been  drawn  on  with  him.  And, 
believe  me  too,  Mrs.  Kingsford,  had  I  known  that  it  was 
you  instead  of  your  husband  who  fled  before  us,  I  would 
have  killed  one  of  my  men,  even  Blanchard  himself, 
rather  than  let  him  fire  a  shot  at  you." 

He  paused,  and  I  took  Elinor's  arm  in  mine. 

"  Let  us  pass,"  I  said.  "  You  have  stated  your  mo- 
tives, and  we  do  not  attack  them  now.  My  wife  and  I, 
through  Providence,  have  come  to  no  harm  at  your 
hands,  and  we  shall  attempt  nothing  in  return." 

"  I  can  not  let  you  pass  so  peacefully,"  he  said,  his 
voice  suddenly  hardening.  "  I  could  have  had  you 
seized,  Henry  Kingsford,  and  had  you  shot,  at  five  min- 
utes' notice,  as  a  spy,  but  I  relented  so  far,  because  it 
occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  I  had  not  always  fought 
you  fairly  for  the  woman  who  hangs  on  your  arm,  when 
she  ought  to  be  hanging  on  mine.  But  my  nature 
would  not  permit  this.  Now,  I  propose  that  we  fight 
for  her  with  swords.  It  is  just  as  I  say:  I  belong  to  the 
ancient  world  and  not  to  this.  Then  the  arm  of  the 
strongest  won  the  most  beautiful  woman,  even  prin- 
cesses. Cleopatra  belonged  in  turn  to  Cassar  and  An- 
tony, and  Augustus  would  have  been  the  heir  of  Antony 
had  not  death  intervened.  What  I  propose  appeals  to 
me  as  our  most  natural  recourse." 

I  felt  Elinor's  hand  trembling  on  my  arm,  but  she 
said  nothing. 

"  It  seems  to  me  extremely  unnatural  in  the  year 
1863,  in  a  civilized  land,"  I  said.  "  Moreover,  I  do  not 
fight  for  what  is  already  my  own." 

"Are  you  afraid,  Mr.  Kingsford?"  he  said  quietly; 
"  but  I  do  not  think  that  you  have  ever  been  a  coward. 
You  should  remember  that  you  disarmed  me  once  in  a 


362  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

friendly  contest  in  Washington.  See!  I  am  provided! 
Perhaps  you  did  not  notice  that  I  have  two  swords;  you 
may  take  your  choice.  The  place  is  suitable.  The 
light  is  poor,  it  is  true;  but  it  is  no  darker  for  you  than 
it  is  for  me,  and  here  is  the  lady  for  whom  we  fight, 
looking  on  and  lending  inspiration  to  each  of  the  com- 
batants. Is  not  the  scene  worthy  of  that  antique  world 
which  I  have  quoted  so  often  to  you  in  the  last  five 
minutes?  " 

I  stared  at  him  in  surprise.  He  had  moved  into  our 
path,  and  I  could  see  plainly  that  he  was  in  earnest.  I 
extended  my  hand  for  one  of  the  sabres,  and  Elinor 
stepped  aside  without  a  word.  It  may  be  that  the 
best  woman  in  the  world  has  in  her  nature  a  little  of 
the  Venus  who  threw  the  apple  of  discord. 

He  had  left  me  no  choice,  and  I  stood  before  him, 
sword  in  hand.  I  caught  one  glimpse  of  Elinor's  face, 
pale  and  lovely,  but  firm  and  confident.  She  stood  be- 
side a  dwarf  oak,  fifteen  feet  from  us.  Then  I  looked 
steadily  into  Varian's  eyes,  watching  every  expression, 
that  I  might  see  what  he  intended.  There  is  some- 
thing now  and  then,  in  time  and  place,  which  strips  us 
of  our  slow-won  civilization,  and  brings  out  in  us  the 
fierce  and  primitive  impulses.  I  felt  one  of  these  im- 
pulses now — the  wish  to  fight;  and  as  I  saw  the  flame  in 
Varian's  eyes,  I  knew  that  he,  too,  was  moved  by  it;  the 
fact  that  Elinor  stood  by  and  looked  on  was  not  the 
last  or  least  incitement  to  either  of  us. 

His  sword  flashed  straight  at  my  heart,  and  I  avoided 
it  only  by  a  swift  leap  to  one  side,  but  I  replied  with  a 
thrust  which  was  barely  parried  by  his  own  blade.  As 
it  was,  I  heard  with  satisfaction  the  slight  whir  of  the 
steel  as  it  cut  through  the  cloth  of  the  sleeve  on  his 
right  arm. 

We  paused  a  moment  for  breath,  but  I  kept  my  eye 
on  his,  lest  in  some  unguarded  moment  of  mine  he 
might  cut  me  down.     His  look,  so  far  as  I  could  in- 


A  MAN  BORN  TOO  LATE  363 

terpret  it,  expressed  intense  satisfaction.  He  seemed 
to  feel  that  he  had  won  a  great  point,  and  my  anger 
against  him  swelled  because  of  this  contentment  that 
showed  so  clearly  upon  his  face.  I  remembered,  too, 
all  that  he  had  attempted  against  me,  and  for  one  mo- 
ment I  was  ready  and  willing  to  kill  him  if  I  could. 

We  raised  our  swords  again  and  began  to  fence  with 
the  caution  and  concentrated  energy  of  men  who  mean 
to  slay.  We  heard  nothing  then  but  our  own  hard 
breathing,  the  whir  of  the  swords,  and  the  occasional 
ring  of  the  steel  as  blade  met  blade.  Yet  neither 
won  advantage,  and  we  paused  a  second  time  for  breath, 
letting  the  points  of  our  blades  drop. 

"  If  you  move  your  sword  again,  General  Varian,  I 
will  blow  your  brains  out!  " 

It  was  a  quiet  voice  that  we  heard,  but,  beyond  a 
doubt,  the  man  who  spoke  the  words  meant  them.  I 
glanced  aside  and  saw  Shaftoe  standing  twenty  feet 
away,  with  a  carbine  levelled  at  ATarian's  head. 

"Is  this  the  way  you  fight  your  duels?"  asked 
Varian  with  an  unchanged  face,  but  with  sarcasm  in 
his  voice. 

"  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  I  did  not  know  of  his 
presence,"  I  replied. 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "  It  was  not  in  your  char- 
acter to  do  so.     I  give  you  that  much  credit." 

Shaftoe  approached,  his  carbine  still  bearing  on  Va- 
rian, and  I  noticed  now  that  he  wore  a  Confederate  uni- 
form like  my  own. 

"  Mr.  Kingsford,"  he  said  sternly,  his  manner  sud- 
denly investing  him  with  great  dignity,  "  I  expected 
more  sense  from  you  than  to  fight  in  this  way  at  such 
a  time,  but  I  was  wrong.  I  thought  you  would  get 
into  some  such  mischief,  and  that  was  why  I  followed 
you  into  the  Southern  camp.  Remember,  that  if  either 
of  you  begin  again,  I  fire  at  General  Varian,  and  I 

don't  miss!  " 
24 


364  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Shaftoe's  stern  words  recalled  to  me  that  it  was 
the  nineteenth  century,  and  that  we  stood  on  the  edge 
of  a  great  battlefield,  which  would  claim  all  the  strength 
of  us  both.     But  it  was  Elinor  who  spoke: 

"  He  gave  him  no  choice,"  said  Elinor,  pointing  to 
Varian.  "  Only  a  coward  could  have  evaded  the  issue, 
and  my  husband  is  not  such  a  man." 

She  spoke  proudly. 

"  The  lady  is  right  in  both  propositions,"  said  Va- 
rian; "  and  yet  I  am  sorry  only  because  we  have  been 
interrupted.  The  test  that  we  set  ourselves  appealed 
and  still  appeals  to  me.  Since  you  control  the  situa- 
tion, what  is  your  will,  Mr.  Soldier?  " 

"  Go!  "  said  Shaftoe,  pointing  toward  the  flickering 
lights  of  the  Southern  camp. 

Varian  bowed  to  Elinor  and  to  me,  and  without  a 
word  walked  toward  the  lights. 

"  And  now  come  with  me,"  said  Shaftoe,  letting  the 
muzzle  of  his  carbine  drop  at  last.  "  It's  lucky  that 
you  two  have  me  to  watch  over  you." 

I  took  Elinor's  arm  and  helped  her  over  the  rough 
way,  following  Shaftoe  in  a  wide  circuit  in  the  darkness. 
He  looked  back  at  us  occasionally,  and  always  seasoned 
his  look  with  some  rebuke  of  me.  But  his  tone  became 
more  genial  presently.  "  After  all,  you  fight  well, 
Henry,"  he  said.     Then  I  knew  that  I  was  forgiven. 

One  of  the  strangest  events  in  my  life  was  that  long 
walk,  over  rough  places  and  in  the  darkness,  around  a 
great  battlefield,  and  from  the  camp  of  one  army  to  the 
camp  of  another;  but  those  were  also  happy  hours,  be- 
cause all  the  way  I  felt  Elinor  on  my  arm,  and  I  be- 
lieved that  she  would  never  again  be  taken  from  me. 
She  spoke  only  once,  and  it  was  to  repeat  her  words 
at  the  camp:  "  0  Henry,  I  am  so  glad  that  you  came 
for  me !  " 

We  reached  our  own  army  without  trouble,  and 
there  Elinor  offered  to  serve  with  our  nurses  as  she  had 


A  MAN  BORN  TOO  LATE  365 

served  with  those  of  the  South.  I  wanted,  her  to  go 
at  once  to  Washington  if  a  way  could  be  found,  but  she 
said:  "  There  will  be  still  greater  need  to-morrow  night 
for  all  such  as  I.     And,  Henry,  I  am  near  you." 

So  I  had  to  leave  her  there  in  one  of  the  hospitals 
and  return  to  my  place  in  the  lines.  I  knew  that  her 
prayers  for  my  safety  followed  me. 


CHAPTER   XLII 


THE   DEVIL  S   DEN 


The  day  came,  the  armies  awoke,  and,  standing  up, 
looked  at  each  other.  They  were  all  there,  or  soon 
would  be,  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  men  face  to 
face — ninety  thousand  for  the  North,  seventy  thousand 
for  the  South. 

The  sun,  slow  and  majestic,  rose  above  the  hills;  its 
light  in  sheaves  of  red  and  yellow  fell  over  the  two 
armies.  The  brilliant  rays  lingered  in  the  crannies  of 
the  rocks,  and  gilded  the  bodies  of  the  dead.  The 
night  dews  dried  up,  the  vapours  were  gone,  and  the 
air  felt  pure  and  fresh.  There  was  Gettysburg,  looking 
from  our  lines  like  the  peaceful  country  town  it  had 
always  been  before  yesterday,  with  its  trim  houses  and 
the  red  gold  of  the  young  sun  shining  on  dome  and 
cupola. 

The  two  armies  gazed  at  each  other  curiously  and 
without  hostility.  The  fierceness,  the  bitterness,  the 
hatred  that  marked  this  war  in  common  with  other 
wars,  was  not  theirs.  Such  emotions  were  for  the  people 
behind  them;  their  own,  if  they  had  felt  them,  had 
long  since  disappeared  in  the  shock  of  battle.  The  sol- 
diers on  the  opposite  hill  were  enemies,  veterans  like 
themselves,  worthy  of  respect;  it  was  not  for  them  to 
malign  men  who  might  soon  prove  themselves  their 
conquerors. 

Shaftoe  and  I  stood  side  by  side.  Neither  had  slept 
366 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  367 

in  that  night  between  battles,  but  I  did  not  feel  the 
need  of  rest. '  I  had  forgotten  such  things  in  the  deep 
satisfaction  that  followed  the  rescue  of  Elinor. 

We  rubbed  the  vapours  from  our  eyes  and  turned 
our  faces  to  the  west,  where  stood  the  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia,  glittering  in  the  sunlight.  A  bird  alighted 
on  a  bush  near  us,  and,  unafraid  of  armies,  began  to 
pour  out  a  stream  of  song.  Shaftoe  looked  at  him  as 
he  sung,  full-throated,  upon  his  bough,  and  repeated 
aloud: 

"  O  for  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm  south — 
Full  of  the  true,  the  blissful  Hippocrene, 
With  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  the  brim, 
And  purple-stained  mouth ! 
That  I  might  drink,  and  leave  the  world  unseen, 
And  with  thee  fade  away  into  the  forest  dim." 

I  said  nothing.  I  had  long  since  ceased  to  be  sur- 
prised at  anything  this  common  soldier  said  or  did;  and 
I  knew,  moreover,  that  the  American  common  soldier 
was  not  always  like  the  common  soldier  of  other  coun- 
tries. 

"  Why  don't  they  begin?  "  I  asked  at  length. 

Shaftoe  did  not  answer.  He  seemed  deep  in 
thought. 

Another  hour  passed,  and  then  another;  still  no 
movement.  The  armies  stretched  themselves  and  took 
deep  breaths.  The  sound  of  a  rifle  shot  came  presently 
from  a  point  down  the  line,  and  was  followed  soon  by 
another,  and  after  that  by  others,  in  a  fitful,  desultory 
way,  as  if  not  really  in  earnest.  There  was  nothing  in- 
spiring in  the  reports,  no  expression  of  energy;  merely 
a  lazy  crackle  like  a  tired  salute.  It  did  not  stir  the 
two  armies,  which  continued  to  stare  at  each  other  in 
the  same  embarrassed  way. 

On  went  the  sun  in  its  slow,  red  majesty.  The  em- 
barrassed pause,  to  which  the  crackling  fire  of  the  skir- 


368  IN  CIECLING  CAMPS 

mishers  formed  no  interruption,  did  not  cease,  and  the 
skirmishing  was  unheeded.  Another  hour  passed,  and 
then  another,  and  the  armies  did  not  move.  The  skir- 
mishing in  the  wood  increased  in  dignity.  It  was  not 
now  an  intermittent  crackle,  but  a  steady  crash,  swell- 
ing and  falling  in  volume,  and  unceasing.  It  was  no 
longer  a  skirmish  going  on  there,  it  was  a  battle;  but 
to  the  main  armies  it  was  only  an  incident.  The  sun 
climbed  on,  reaching  the  zenith,  and  the  armies  yet 
stood  there;  it  passed  toward  the  west.  One  o'clock 
came,  two  o'clock,  three  o'clock,  and  still  they  did  not 
move. 

During  all  these  long  hours,  when  the  two  armies 
stood  face  to  face  and  attentive,  the  telegraph  wires 
clicked  over  thousands  of  miles,  as  they  had  clicked  the 
night  before,  asking  the  same  question,  "  What  news  of 
the  armies?  "  and  the  answer,  "  Nothing,"  always  came 
back  to  the  tired  man  at  Washington,  as  it  came  to  all 
others.  The  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  men  who 
looked  at  each  other,  and  were  to  decide  the  fate  of  the 
thirty  millions,  were  hidden  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 

The  afternoon  was  of  dazzling  brightness.  The 
sunlight  streamed  over  everything.  The  smoke  from 
the  combat  in  the  woods  was  only  a  single  blur.  The 
armies  simmered  in  the  heat. 

But  the  time  had  come.  An  important  division  of 
the  Southern  army  arrived,  delayed  two  hours  by  a 
mistaken  order. 

At  mid-afternoon  four  brigades  of  the  Southern 
army  moved  forward  to  attack  the  Peach  Orchard — 
place  of  pleasant  name  and  bloody  memory — and  the 
frowning  rocks  of  the  Devil's  Den. 

A  succession  of  flashes  burst  from  the  Peach  Or- 
chard, followed  by  a  heavy,  rolling  crash,  a  sound  now 
familiar  and  old.  The  Northern  artillery  was  filing  a 
remonstrance  against  the  Southern  advance. 

The  Southern  batteries  answered  the  remonstrance; 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  369 

a  vast  flame  flared  out  as  the  rifles  took  up  the  appeal, 
and  the  line  of  fire  leaped  up  and  down  the  front  of  the 
two  armies  like  a  blaze,  running  along  the  edge  of  a 
tinder-dry  forest. 

The  battle  extended  with  incredible  rapidity.  The 
rival  generals  saw  their  men  meet  around  Little  Eound 
Top,  and  then  disappear  in  the  smoke  bank  of  their 
own  firing.  Above  the  fighting  cloud  on  the  slopes 
rose  the  dark,  tower-like  dome  of  this  summit,  a  mas- 
sive rock  dominating  the  southern  end  of  the  field  and 
seeming  to  say  to  the  two  armies,  "  Who  keeps  me  keeps 
the  victory."  Here  troops  were  already  climbing  the 
last  slope. 

The  Northern  commander-in-chief,  still  watching, 
saw  the  streams  of  fire  from  the  great  guns,  and  then 
the  Southern  troops  were  beaten  back  from  the  edge  of 
the  crest,  but  not  to  retreat.  Tenacity  was  allied  with 
their  dash.  They  attacked  again,  and  then  the  thick- 
ening smoke  hid  the  summit  and  the  lower  ridges,  and 
the  men  struggling  upon  them,  from  the  commander. 
Within  this  whirling  cloud  the  combat  for  Little  Eound 
Top  assumed  a  most  desperate  phase — a  vast,  confused, 
overlapping  struggle  among  the  rocks,  where  the  lines 
could  not  be  retained,  and  soldiers  sometimes  climbed 
trees  to  get  shots  at  each  other,  feeling  no  hate,  but  the 
desire  to  kill. 

There  is  a  hill  along  the  line  of  battle,  with  dark 
and  shaggy  hollows  in  its  western  side,  forming  a  kind 
of  crater,  almost  a  cavern,  sharp  rocks  rising  up  at  its 
mouth  like  rows  of  jagged  and  broken  teeth.  It  is  a 
forbidding  place,  even  when  the  sun  shines  in  it,  and  one 
does  not  like  to  linger  there;  the  air  has  a  kind  of  chill 
in  it,  and  you  grow  sombre.  The  sharp  rocks  threaten 
like  the  shark's  teeth  they   are,  and  the  ground  is  cold. 

This  place  is  called  the  Devil's  Den,  and  few  names 
are  more  fitting. 

A  Northern  general  filled  the  Devil's  Den  on  the 


370  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

morning  of  July  2d  with  sharpshooters — men  who  could 
hide  themselves  on  the  ground  behind  a  stone  and  pick 
out  on  the  enemy's  body  the  exact  spot  where  they  in- 
tended the  bullet  to  hit;  men  who  could  count,  in  the 
evening  after  the  battle,  the  number  they  had  killed 
with  as  much  pleasure  and  as  much  freedom  from  re- 
morse as  if  they  had  been  hunters  shooting  rabbits. 
They  were  grand  masters  of  their  craft,  cool  and  experi- 
enced, quick  of  eye  and  hand,  and  believed  to  be  wholly 
without  conscience;  therefore  they  were  to  be  trusted. 

Shaftoe  and  I  stood  behind  some  rocks  just  above 
this  crater,  and  whenever  the  battle  let  us,  we  watched 
the  sharpshooters  in  it  with  both  curiosity  and  aver- 
sion. 

They  had  been  impatient  at  the  slow  movements  of 
the  Southern  army,  and  grumbled  as  the  long  hours  of 
sunshine  passed  and  brought  nothing.  They  wanted 
to  hear  the  bullets  singing;  to  see  the  white  puffs  of 
smoke  rise,  and  the  men,  their  chosen  targets,  fall  at  so 
many  hundred  yards,  proof  of  their  skill.  They  could 
not  be  truly  happy  until  this,  which  was  meat  and  drink 
to  them,  began,  and  they  felt  that  they  were  treated  un- 
fairly. 

They  were  lying  down  behind  the  rocks,  examining 
their  slender-barrelled  rifles,  which  they  prized  as  wife 
and  children,  rising  up  now  and  then  for  a  better  look 
at  the  distant  lines  of  the  Southern  army;  a  group  of 
men  tanned  to  a  russet  brown  by  the  sun;  thin,  sinuous, 
and  fierce-eyed,  like  forest  Indians.  There  was  a  great 
range  of  age;  the  one  on  the  right  was  nearly  sixty 
years  old,  and  another  near  him  was  not  twenty.  The 
youth,  Hunter,  was  more  impatient  than  the  others. 
His  impatience  became  anger,  and  he  cursed  the  troops 
because  they  would  not  come  within  range  of  his  rifle. 

"  Save  your  breath,  Hunter;  you'll  need  it  soon  to 
cool  your  rifle,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Do  you  suppose,  "Wilson,  that  I  want  to  lie  here  all 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  371 

day  on  my  stomach,  frying  like  a  turtle  on  a  griddle, 
waiting  for  the  rebels?  "  replied  Hunter. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  a  letter  to  Lee  telling  him 
you're  tired  of  waiting?  "  asked  a  third  man,  Watson. 

Hunter's  only  reply  was  an  angry  snarl.  The  others 
laughed. 

"  Hunter's  going  to  do  like  the  Indians,  and  carry 
a  stick  with  a  notch  in  it  for  every  man  that  he's  killed," 
said  Wilson. 

Hunter  was  staring  at  the  Southern  lines.  His  was 
not  a  good  face  to  look  at;  it  was  too  long  and  narrow, 
and  his  greenish  eyes  were  set  close  together  like  two 
peas  in  a  pod.  He  had  already  made  a  good  record  at 
his  trade,  though,  compared  with  some  of  his  com- 
rades, he  was  a  novice.     But  he  had  his  ambitions. 

The  sun  shone  into  Hunter's  eyes  and  inflamed 
them.  The  heat  seemed  to  creep  from  his  eyes  into  his 
brain,  and  he  saw  things  through  a  curious  red  mist. 
Naturally  morose,  his  temper  grew  angrier  at  the  long 
wait;  he  felt  of  his  rifle  which  he  loved,  a  weapon  with 
a  barrel  longer  than  usual  and  a  beautifully  carved 
stock.  He  held  it  up  and  admired  it,  then  fitted  the 
stock  to  his  shoulder  and  took  aim  at  imaginary  objects. 

"  Hunter's  in  love  with  his  gun,"  said  a  comrade. 
"  See  how  he's  fondling  it!  " 

Hunter  scorned  to  reply.  Besides,  he  scarcely 
seemed  to  hear.  He  was  too  much  occupied  with  his 
rifle.  He  admired  it  hugely.  He  believed  it  to  be 
the  most  beautiful  weapon  in  the  world,  and  the  sense 
of  ownership  that  he  felt,  as  I  could  see,  was  peculiarly 
satisfying.  This  increased  his  desire  to  use  it,  to  de- 
vote it  to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  made.  The  gun 
had  acquired  a  power  over  him,  a  sort  of  fascination, 
like  that  of  a  snake,  and  it  seemed  to  rebuke  him  be- 
cause he  did  not  find  the  opportunity  for  use.  So  he 
felt  apparently  that  it  had  cause  for  complaint  against 
him,  and  his  impatience  and  anger  grew  as  the  sunlight 


372  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

broadened  and  stillness  yet  reigned  over  the  valley  and 
slopes.  He  put  the  gun  down.  The  barrel  was  hot  to 
his  touch  under  the  burning  rays,  but  he  could  not  es- 
cape its  reproach.  He  picked  it  up  again,  and  it  con- 
tinually urged  him  on;  the  urging  agreed  so  well  with 
his  feelings  that  he  scarcely  needed  it.  He  began  to 
measure  the  distance  to  the  nearest  Southern  soldiers, 
and  wonder  if  he  could  not  get  a  shot.  He  lay  flat  on 
his  stomach  and  calculated  the  horizontal  line  to  an 
officer,  apparently  a  colonel,  whom  he  could  see  on  the 
opposite  slope.  Unconsciously  he  began  to  squirm  for- 
ward, dragging  himself  with  the  elbows  and  muscular 
motion  of  his  body.  He  forgot  his  comrades;  his  eyes 
were  full  of  savage  fire,  and  the  lust  of  blood  was  in  his 
veins. 

"  Look  at  Hunter,  turning  himself  into  a  rattle- 
snake! "  suddenly  cried  Wilson. — "  What  are  you  doing 
there,  Hunter?  Come  back,  and  don't  waste  your 
bullets  on  the  air.  You'll  have  plenty  need  for  'em 
soon." 

Hunter  came  back,  but  he  apologized  to  his  rifle, 
and  whispered  to  it  that  the  chance  would  come  yet. 
Then  he  stroked  the  long  steel  barrel  and  looked  down 
the  sights  again  to  see  that  there  was  no  mistake.  He 
was  muttering  to  himself,  but  the  others  did  not  no- 
tice it. 

The  sun  was  very  hot  to  Hunter.  While  the  ground 
in  the  Devil's  Den  was  cold  to  his  touch,  the  heat 
poured  directly  upon  his  head,  and  he  was  restless  as  if 
he  had  a  fever.  Nothing  could  satisfy  him  but  the  use 
of  his  gun,  the  beloved  weapon,  which  had  been  lying 
idle  too  long,  and  was  complaining.  He  pulled  himself 
forward  again,  not  wishing  to  rise  up  and  walk,  as  the 
sharpshooters  were  to  form  an  ambush,  and  this  time 
his  comrades  did  not  rebuke  him,  since  they,  too,  were 
becoming  extremely  impatient.  He  reached  the  edge 
of  the  Den  and  lay  there  for  a  while,  looking  more  than 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  373 

ever  like  a  rattlesnake  sunning  himself  on  a  rock.  He 
raised  himself  up  a  little  presently,  and  shouted: 

"  They  are  coming!  " 

He  was  transfigured.  His  eyes  glittered  and  his  face 
showed  joy.  The  rifle  shots  began  to  crash  farther  up 
the  line,  and  above  them  soon  rose  the  roar  of  the 
artillery.  With  these  sounds  the  transformation  of  the 
Devil's  Den  became  complete.  All  its  sloth  was  shed 
like  a  shell,  and  it  was  filled  with  sinuous,  strenuous 
forms,  sliding  from  rock  to  rock,  and  thrusting  forward 
long  rifle  barrels,  seeking  a  shot.  Hunter  already  had 
taken  possession  of  the  outermost  rock,  and  when  the 
Southern  troops  came  within  range  he  picked  a  man 
and  fired.  The  soldier  fell,  and  Hunter's  eyes  ex- 
pressed ferocious  satisfaction.  The  sun  burned  into  his 
brain,  and  the  good  shot  inflamed  it.  He  patted  his 
rifle  approvingly,  and  then  quietly  reloaded.  He  was 
enjoying  himself,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  a  true  sharp- 
shooter, worthy  of  his  company.  He  loaded  and  fired 
as  fast  as  he  could  pick  a  target,  and  his  breast  expanded 
with  savage  joy. 

All  the  men  in  the  Devil's  Den  were  busy.  Those 
rocks  became  a  nest  of  hornets,  and  they  were  stinging 
the  flanks  of  the  Southern  army,  persistent,  insatiable, 
and  always  drawing  blood. 

The  fire  that  came  from  the  Devil's  Den  was  not  in 
volleys,  nor  was  it  a  regular  succession  of  shots.  It  was 
an  intermittent  crackle,  each  man  pulling  the  trigger  as 
he  secured  his  aim.  They  did  not  intend  to  waste  lead. 
They  were  there  not  merely  to  shoot  but  to  hit.  They 
were  no  amateurs,  burning  powder  just  for  the  sake  of 
the  flash  and  the  blaze.  They  said  but  little;  seldom 
was  anything  heard  in  the  Devil's  Den  save  the  crackle 
of  the  rifle  fire  and  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  men. 
The  roar  of  the  battle  became  continuous  and  thunder- 
ous. Vast  clouds  of  smoke  drifted  over  the  field  and  hid 
most  of  it.     The  sharpshooters  in  the  Devil's  Den,  de- 


374  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

spite  their  deadly  work,  were  unnoticed  so  far.  They  lay 
there  among  the  rocks,  and  stung  and  stung.  Now  and 
then  a  shell  flew  over  their  heads  and  shrapnel  struck 
near,  but  none  fell  among  them,  and  they  rejoiced  at 
their  immunity.  They  were  willing  for  the  other  side 
to  have  all  the  danger.  They  were  not  there  to  secure 
any  of  the  glory  of  the  war,  or  to  give  the  other  fellow  a 
chance.  They  wanted  all  the  chances  to  be  their  own, 
and  they  were  burdened  by  no  scruples.  Their  attitude 
was  precisely  that  of  the  man  toward  the  partridge  that 
he  hunts. 

Hunter's  face  became  inflamed,  and  was  as  red  as 
the  setting  sun.  The  muzzle  of  his  rifle  smoked  con- 
tinually with  his  rapid  firing. 

"  Look  at  Hunter!  "  cried  Wilson,  in  the  course  of  a 
lull.  "Did  you  ever  see  such  a  face  and  eyes?  He's 
breathing  too  much  of  his  own  rifle  smoke!  It's  got 
powder  in  it,  and  it's  gone  to  his  brain!  " 

The  men  would  have  noticed  Hunter  more  closely, 
but  at  that  moment  the  battle  flamed  afresh,  and  the 
voices  were  lost  in  the  roar  of  the  batteries  and  the 
rolling  crash  of  the  rifle  fire,  which  gave  delight  to  the 
sharpshooters,  and  incited  them  to  preternatural  ac- 
tivity. 

The  dense  columns  of  the  Southerners,  marching  to 
attack  the  hills,  presented  their  flanks  to  the  sharp- 
shooters, and  the  target  was  as  fine  and  large  as  the 
most  ruthless  of  ambushed  marksmen  could  wish.  The 
men  in  the  Devil's  Den  sent  a  stream  of  bullets  into  the 
solid  masses,  loading  and  firing  in  silence,  unnoticed 
yet,  because  they  were  lost  in  the  vast  battle  that  con- 
verged around  them,  and  because  they  kept  under  cover 
of  the  rocks,  with  the  Indian-like  precaution  of  sharp- 
shooters, who  neglect  no  chances. 

A  cloud  of  whitish  brown  smoke  from  the  rifles 
hung  over  the  Devil's  Den  and  hid  it.  The  cloud  was 
punctuated  by  many  flashes  of  red  fire,  and  the  rattle  of 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  375 

the  shots  from  the  rocks  was  like  the  continued  explo- 
sion of  packs  of  giant  firecrackers.  Never  had  the 
Devil's  Den  deserved  so  well  its  name.  It  was  filled 
with  men  who  were  earning  their  pay. 

"  Stop  firing,  and  let  the  smoke  lift  a  little,"  called 
out  Wilson  presently.  "  If  we  can't  see,  we'll  waste 
our  bullets!  " 

The  thought  of  sending  bullets  at  a  vague  target  was 
unendurable  to  Wilson. 

"  Hold  your  fire !  "  he  called  out  again.  "  Who  is 
it  that  keeps  on  peppering  away? — Stop  that,  I  tell  you, 
Hunter,  or  I'll  club  you  with  your  own  gun!  Are  you 
crazy?  " 

Hunter  yielded,  though  sullenly.  Perhaps  he  would 
not  have  stopped  at  all  if  he  had  not  wished  to  give  his 
gun  time  to  cool.  He  looked  affectionately  at  the  rifle, 
and  seemed  to  feel  that  both  it  and  he  were  doing  well 
that  day.  They  could  congratulate  each  other.  The 
look  on  his  face  was  that  of  the  unredeemed  savage. 
Hardened  and  merciless  as  all  the  men  were,  some  of 
them  shrank  from  him. 

"  I  told  you  that  Hunter  was  inhaling  too  much 
powder  smoke,"  said  Wilson,  looking  curiously  at  the 
young  man.  "  And  it  isn't  a  healthy  diet. — Is  your 
head  hot,  Hunter?  " 

Hunter  made  no  reply,  but  began  to  count  the  bul- 
lets in  his  ammunition  pouch.  There  was  no  time  to 
talk  now.  Many  bullets  were  yet  in  the  pouch;  yonder 
were  the  Southern  columns  as  dense  as  ever,  and  here 
was  his  beloved  rifle,  crying  out  to  be  used  again. 
There  was  work  for  him  to  do. 

The  cloud  of  smoke  lifted,  and  the  sharpshooters 
saw  the  enemy  clearly  again;  they  resumed  their  fire, 
and  breathed  sighs  of  satisfaction  when  they  saw  that 
the  target  was  nearer.  The  poorest  among  them  could 
scarcely  miss  it  at  so  short  a  range.  The  activity  of  the 
Devil's  Den  was  redoubled.     It  spouted  flame,  and  the 


376  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

well-aimed  bullets  cut  gashes  in  the  Southern  lines. 
So  much  fire,  a  fire  so  deadly,  was  bound  to  attract  at- 
tention in  time,  and  presently  a  shell  refused  to  pass 
over  the  Devil's  Den  like  its  predecessors,  but  dropped 
there  among  the  rocks,  hurling  many  pieces  of  hot  and 
jagged  steel  among  the  sharpshooters.  These  men  did 
not  cry  out  when  they  were  struck;  they  left  on  the 
ground  their  dead,  who  were  no  longer  of  any  use,  and 
the  wounded  attended  to  their  own  wounds,  while  the 
others  continued  their  fire  with  the  same  coolness  and 
accuracy. 

The  Devil's  Den  belched  much  destruction,  but  now 
it  was  receiving  a  sinister  attention  in  return.  It  was  a 
plague,  and  the  Southern  artillery  undertook  to  apply 
the  cure.  Two  streams  of  fire  met  in  the  canopy  of 
smoke  that  overhung  it — one  the  flash  of  the  rifles  held 
by  the  sharpshooters,  and  the  other  the  bursting  of  the 
Southern  shells  hurled  at  the  Devil's  Den. 

The  sharpshooters  grew  angry;  they  were  paying 
too  high  a  price  for  their  opportunities;  besides,  the 
scream  of  the  shells  and  shrapnel  over  their  heads  was 
so  unearthly  that  it  might  have  upset  the  nerves  of 
men  less  experienced  than  themselves.  But  they  were 
thankful  that  they  were  not  so  raw.  Nevertheless,  they 
neglected  no  precautions;  they  burrowed  under  the 
rocks,  and  some  of  them  succeeded  in  protecting  them- 
selves from  the  searching  shells.  They  lay  flat  upon 
the  ground,  and  their  faded  uniforms  were  almost  the 
colour  of  the  rocks  and  dirt.  Only  their  eager  eyes 
were  visible,  and  always  in  the  first  rank,  nearest  the 
enemy,  was  Hunter.  He  seemed  happy.  This  activity, 
the  bursting  of  the  shells  about  him,  the  incessant  roar 
of  the  battle,  and  above  all  the  report  of  his  own  rifle, 
soothed  somewhat  the  flame  in  his  head,  but  he 
breathed  continuously  the  powder  smoke  made  by  his 
firing,  and  soon  he  forgot  his  comrades,  everything  ex- 
cept the  red  battle  in  front,  and  the  advancing  masses, 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  377 

into  which  he  sent  his  bullets  with  regularity  and  pre- 
cision. 

The  Devil's  Den  was  growing  hot.  Each  moment 
added  to  the  desert  of  its  name.  One  third  of  the 
sharpshooters  had  fallen,  and  the  fragments  of  burst 
shells  still  smoked.  The  odours  were  unpleasant,  but 
the  activity  of  the  remaining  sharpshooters  atoned  for 
the  destruction  of  the  others.  They  were  enraged  at 
their  losses,  and  gave  their  rifles  no  rest.  Stung  them- 
selves, they  stung  with  more  fury. 

Two  shells  burst  simultaneously  in  the  Devil's  Den, 
and  there  was  wreck  among  the  sharpshooters. 

"  It's  time  to  go !  "  shouted  Wilson.  "  We're  sharp- 
shooters, and  we're  not  expected  to  form  a  solid  line 
against  artillery." 

All  the  men  who  could,  rose  to  go,  except  one. 
Hunter  was  crawling  forward,  and  aiming  at  an  officer. 
He  had  watched  that  man  and  others,  and  he  believed 
that  he  and  his  good  gun  would  slay  them  all.  He  had 
no  thought  of  going.  He  was  oblivious  to  everything, 
except  his  quarry.  Suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry  of  anger 
and  grief.  A  piece  of  a  bursting  shell  had  broken  his 
rifle  in  his  hand. 

"  Hunter,  you  fool,  come  away!  "  cried  Wilson. 

Hunter  snatched  up  the  rifle  of  a  fallen  man  and 
went  on  with  his  work.     His  brain  was  red  hot  now. 

"Hunter,  are  you  crazy?  "  cried  Wilson,  in  amaze- 
ment.    "  Come  on!  " 

Hunter  did  not  reply.  He  would  never  fire  again. 
A  shell  had  burst  low  down  and  directly  over  his  head. 

The  Southern  troops  in  one  of  their  charges  took 
the  Devil's  Den  hill  and  passed  on,  driving  us  before 
them,  but  help  came  to  us  at  last,  and  then  we  held  our 
new  ground,  although  we  could  not  drive  them  back. 

The  tranquil  sun  was  setting,  not  varying  a  minute 
from  the  allotted  time  because  of  the  terrible  struggle 
that  whirled  about  the  little  town;  it  cast  a  deep  glow 


378  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

over  all  the  field,  and  the  swelling  columns  of  smoke 
were  shot  through  with  a  tinge  of  red,  the  red  of  the 
guns  deepened  by  the  red  of  the  peaceful  skies. 

The  armies  were  as  heedless  of  the  sun  as  the  sun 
was  of  them;  its  splendours  of  scarlet  and  gold  passed 
unseen.  The  two  commanders  still  lifted  up  their  regi- 
ments and  hurled  them  at  each  other,  and  men  without 
malice  fought  as  if  they  had  some  precious  hate  to 
avenge. 

The  Southern  troops  who  had  shown  such  valour 
began  at  last  to  display  less  energy  in  the  attack.  They 
ceased  the  advance,  very  slowly  and  full  of  anger,  hesi- 
tating at  first,  and  then  retreating.  Above  them 
frowned  the  summit  of  Little  Bound  Top,  untaken 
and  threatening,  crowded  with  its  guns,  which  con- 
tributed their  share  to  the  shower  of  metal  thrown  upon 
the  brave  men  who  had  failed. 

The  line  rolled  back  upon  itself  like  a  carpet,  but 
the  slopes  were  lined  with  their  dead.  Victory  rested 
with  us  at  the  south  end  of  the  field,  but  elsewhere  the 
battle  still  raged  with  unbroken  energy.  The  growing 
darkness  was  lighted  up  by  the  blazing  gunpowder,  and 
fresh  regiments  and  brigades  were  sent  into  the  vortex. 
At  these  points,  fate  or  chance,  or  whatever  it  may  be, 
still  lingered  over  its  decision,  seeming  to  enjoy  the 
slow  doubt,  and  to  prolong  it,  as  if  it  were  a  delicate 
morsel.  The  Southern  attack  cut  our  squares  in  some 
places,  was  driven  back  at  others,  and  the  line  of  battle 
began  to  zigzag  like  a  drunken  man. 

The  sun  shot  down,  the  twilight  darkened  into 
night,  and,  seen  against  the  black  background,  the  red- 
ness of  the  battle  grew.  Every  cannon-flash  was  mag- 
nified, and  each  rifle  shot  made  a  spout  of  fire.  The  area 
of  flame  began  to  contract  at  last,  the  roar  of  the  battle 
became  irregular,  and  I  saw  that  the  energy  of  the  com- 
batants was  waning.  The  flame  vanished,  the  thunder 
ceased,  and  the  day's  struggle  was  over.     Exhaustion 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  379 

and  the  night  conquered  at  last,  but  there  was  no  de- 
cisive result.  The  final  decree,  which  we  believed 
ought  to  be  given,  was  withheld,  and  we  sank  down  to 
await  another  day  of  combat. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  the  second  day's  struggle 
ceased,  but  our  second  day  was  better  than  our  first, 
although  there  was  no  exultation  in  the  soul  of  Meade  as 
he  rode  through  his  lines  in  the  moonlit  night  and 
looked  upon  the  awful  scene  of  ruin  and  desolation. 
Twenty  thousand  of  his  men  had  fallen.  The  muster 
roll  of  his  dead  and  wounded  was  already  large  enough 
to  constitute  an  army.  The  Southern  attack  had  failed 
at  the  main  points,  but  it  had  succeeded  at  others,  and 
it  would  come  again.  Meade,  as  he  looked  at  the  hills 
held  by  the  Southern  troops  and  saw  their  camp  fires 
still  burning,  knew  that  Lee  had  not  delivered  his  last 
blow;  he  would  attack  again  on  the  morrow. 

Shaftoe  and  I  came  out  of  the  smoke,  still  together, 
still  unhurt,  but  exhausted.  I  stopped  a  moment  to 
look  over  the  theatre  of  the  vast  conflict  and  try  to  gain 
some  comprehension  of  the  day's  events. 

"  What  has  happened?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  veteran.  "  Forty  thousand 
men  have  been  killed  or  wounded,  but  nothing  has 
happened  yet." 

It  was  with  no  sense  of  cruelty,  or  even  indifference, 
that  he  spoke.  His  was  strictly  the  military  meaning. 
He  intended  to  say  that  forty  thousand  men  had  fallen, 
and  no  decision  had  been  reached.  The  issue  of  the 
battle  was  as  uncertain  now  as  it  was  when  it  began. 
In  silence  we  went  to  the  nearest  camp  fire.  A  great 
passing  of  souls  was  the  chief  impression  yet  made  upon 
me  by  Gettysburg. 

The  night  advanced,  the  moon  shone,  the  stars  glit- 
tered in  the  sky  of  blue,  and  the  work  of  the  generals 
went  on.  The  ravages  of  the  cannon  balls  were  re- 
paired by  new  lines.  The  contents  of  the  ammunition 
25 


380  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

wagons,  which  for  the  last  two  days  had  been  pouring 
out  powder  and  ball  in  a  continuous  stream,  like  grain 
from  a  mill,  were  measured.  Breastworks  were  built 
and  cannon  examined. 

I  went  toward  the  rear  as  soon  as  my  duties  would 
permit  me,  and  there  I  found  Elinor  at  work  among 
the  wounded.  "  She  has  been  worth  as  much  to  us  as 
any  soldier  on  the  field  to-day,"  said  a  surgeon  to  me. 
It  was  a  brave  face  that  she  turned  to  me,  though  pale 
from  work  and  the  sights  of  that  day.  "  I  knew  that 
you  would  come  back  safely,"  she  said,  and  then  she 
smiled  a  little,  and  added,  "  Call  it  my  woman's  intui- 
tion." 

We  talked,  in  the  few  minutes  that  she  could  spare, 
about  the  chances  of  the  battle,  and  I  told  her  my 
belief  that  we  would  win  on  the  morrow.  "  Another 
day! "  she  said;  "  surely  that  will  end  it! "  Then  I 
left  her,  knowing  how  much  she  was  needed  among  the 
hurt,  but  I  felt  stronger,  because  I  knew  that  a  woman's 
prayers  for  my  safety  followed  me. 

The  Soutbern  army  arose  the  next  morning  sore 
and  angry,  feeling  that  it  had  not  won  the  success  it 
deserved  on  the  day  before,  but  prepared,  whenever  its 
general  called,  to  go  back  and  take  the  triumph  yet 
denied. 

The  day  was  bright  and  burning,  like  the  two  just 
before  it.  The  battle  had  begun  already,  and  this  third 
beginning  was  made  by  us.  Before,  the  North  waited 
for  the  South. 

Our  artillery  opened  fire  at  daybreak  on  the  South- 
ern left,  which  occupied  the  same  positions  taken  the 
day  before  from  the  North.  The  South,  for  a  little 
while,  contented  itself  without  answer,  but  the  volume 
of  the  firing  grew  fast,  and  their  interest  began  to  in- 
crease. 

The  Southern  regiments,  thus  attacked,  were  the 
old  soldiers  of  Stonewall  Jackson,  who  had  always  taken 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  381 

them  to  victory.  They  were  without  a  single  cannon; 
though  the  fire  of  batteries  was  turned  upon  them,  they 
could  reply  only  with  rifles,  and  at  close  quarters. 
More  troops  were  coming  to  the  aid  of  their  enemies; 
none  came  to  them.  They  wondered  why  they  were 
thus  neglected.  They  could  hear  the  sound  of  no 
battle  elsewhere,  but  their  wonder  and  their  isolation 
never  caused  them  to  flinch  for  a  moment. 

The  day  grew  hotter  than  its  predecessors  and  the 
long  morning  lingered  on.  The  battle  at  the  North 
swelled  and  roared,  but  the  bulk  of  the  Army  of  North- 
ern Virginia  still  rested  on  the  slopes,  and  we  wondered 
why  it  did  not  move  to  the  help  of  Jackson's  men. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?  "  I  asked  as  I  lay  on 
Cemetery  Hill. 

"  Why  is  Lee  waiting,  do  you  mean?  "  answered 
Shaftoe. 

"  Yes." 

"  I'd  rather  tell  you  my  thoughts  after  the  battle. 
Then  I  can  make  them  fit,"  replied  the  cautious  veteran. 

Two  hours,  three  hours,  four  hours,  and  more 
passed,  and  the  murmur  of  inquiry  in  both  armies  grew. 

Now,  Jackson's  soldiers,  who  had  been  fighting 
their  long  and  lonely  battle,  were  oppressed  with  a  ter- 
rible grief.  They  began  to  feel  that  they  would  have 
to  yield,  to  give  back;  they,  the  unbeaten,  would  be 
beaten.  They  made  superhuman  efforts  to  hold  their 
ground,  but  they  began  to  slip  back,  only  an  inch  or  two 
at  first,  but  an  inch  or  two  was  too  much. 

The  inch  or  two  grew  to  feet,  and  then  to  yards. 
Their  backward  movement  was  slow,  but  it  did  not 
cease.  It  could  not.  The  crushing  weight  driven 
against  them  was  never  withdrawn,  and  to  stand  was 
not  now  a  question  of  bravery,  merely  of  strength; 
the  reduced  lines,  strive  as  they  might,  could  not 
bear  the  load.  Those  who  would  not  retreat  were 
taken;  infolded  by  our  numerous  brigades,  and  threat- 


382  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

ened  with  annihilation,  they  were  compelled  to  sur- 
render. Arms  and  colours  were  lost.  It  became  a  day 
doubly  tragic  for  Jackson's  men.  The  survivors  could 
neither  preserve  their  weapons  nor  their  flags. 

They  looked  for  help,  but,  seeing  none,  abandoned 
the  thought  of  it,  and  back  they  went  still  farther  in 
the  smoke,  leaving  more  prisoners,  knowing  the  cer- 
tainty of  defeat  for  them — a  defeat  that  was  without 
disgrace,  yet  full  of  pain. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  noon  hour  was  com- 
ing. The  battle,  waged  so  fiercely  at  the  north  end  of 
the  line,  ceased.  A  silence,  strange,  even  weird,  settled 
over  the  field.  No  shots  were  heard.  Even  the  rumble 
of  men  sank  to  a  murmur.  The  clouds  of  smoke  were 
lifting,  and  through  them  came  the  burning  sun. 

The  silence  grew  heavier,  as  if  the  two  combatants 
suffered  a  paralysis  from  long  and  gigantic  exertions, 
or  had  become  appalled  by  their  own  work.  The  sun, 
like  a  huge  ball  of  glowing  red-hot  copper,  sailed  on 
toward  the  zenith,  unpitying.     The  day  was  breathless. 

The  silence,  so  strange,  so  oppressive,  was  broken  at 
last  by  a  cannon  shot;  it  was  followed  quickly  by  five 
or  six  others,  and  the  flames  leaped  up  from  a  house 
and  several  stacks  of  straw  between  the  Virginians, 
under  Pickett,  the  newly  arrived  division,  now  lying  on 
Seminary  Ridge,  and  our  lines,  burning  brightly  and 
rapidly,  set  on  fire  by  the  cannon  shot.  We  saw  by  the 
light  the  forms  of  their  skirmishers  creeping  forward 
among  the  rocks  and  hillocks,  and  then  we  heard  the 
crackle  of  their  rifles.  The  fire  of  the  cannon  in- 
creased and  spread  from  battery  to  battery  the  vast 
amphitheatre  resounded  with  the  reports.  "  The  cover 
for  some  movement,"  I  said  to  myself. 

The  cannonade  swelled  into  tremendous  volume, 
and  again  the  amphitheatre  rested  beneath  the  canopy 
of  smoke  which  now  seemed  natural  to  it,  and  through 
and  beneath  this  canopy  flew  the  incessant  showers  of 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  383 

steel.     The  spectacle  was  brilliant  and  majestic.     The  ' 
flames,  with  the  sunlight  shining  upon  them,  glittered 
in  many  colours,  and  the  house  burned  like  a  torch  that 
led  the  van. 

The  cannonade  died  after  a  while,  and  the  hot  guns 
began  to  cool.  The  sharpshooters  ceased.  Their  fire 
was  doing  no  damage,  and  they  could  not  afford  to  waste 
ammunition  now.  The  bottoms  of  the  Southern  cais- 
sons and  ammunition  chests  were  growing  alarmingly 
near;  the  battle  had  been  long,  and  enough  powder  had 
been  burned  and  shot  fired  to  equip  a  magazine.  Then 
we  waited  again,  and  all  the  smoke  floated  away.  The 
theatre  of  the  battle-to-be  was  unchanged.  The  arena 
was  ready,  and  only  the  actors  waiting;  but  silence 
came  once  more,  and  the  impatient  ceased  to  question, 
knowing  its  idleness. 

Noon  passed,  and  then  another  hour.  The  sun 
hung  overhead,  pouring  a  flood  of  burning  rays  upon 
the  valley,  the  slopes,  and  the  sombre  towers  of  the 
Eound  Tops. 

A  cannon  shot  sounded  on  the  right  of  the  Southern 
line;  the  single  note  echoed  and  rolled  with  sinister 
suggestion  in  all  that  vast  stillness.  After  one  minute 
of  intense  waiting,  it  was  followed  by  a  second  cannon 
shot,  rolling  and  reverberating  like  the  first.  It  was  a 
signal,  and  both  armies  knew  its  meaning.  Those  two 
cannon  shots  said,  "  Be  on  your  guard!  " 

The  time  was  one  o'clock. 

Before  the  smoke  of  the  two  shots  melted  into  the 
sky,  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  Southern  cannon, 
massed  at  the  southern  end  of  their  line  and  fired  all 
at  once,  hurled  a  storm  of  steel  and  iron  upon  our  army. 
The  first  cannonade  had  been  without  result,  but  this 
was  bigger  and  closer,  and  the  Southern  generals  be- 
lieved that  it  would  not  fail.  The  North,  before  silent, 
replied  with  more  than  a  hundred  guns,  and  our  can- 
noneers, refreshed  by  their  rest,  worked  with  skill  and 


384  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

speed.  More  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  cannon  were 
engaged,  and  the  greatest  artillery  duel  ever  known  in 
America  had  begun. 

The  Southern  batteries,  in  action,  were  more  nu- 
merous, and  their  fire  was  concentric,  but  our  men  were 
better  sheltered,  and  we  had  sixty  or  eighty  cannon  in 
reserve  that  we  could  bring  up  if  needed.  All  the  fac- 
tors of  a  mighty  duel  were  present,  and  none  was  neg- 
lected. A  light  wind  sprang  up  and  drove  the  smoke 
back  over  the  valley  and  the  Southern  batteries,  par- 
tially hiding  them  and  the  line  of  attack  from  us,  but 
exposing  our  position  and  enabling  the  enemy  to  see  the 
destruction  there.  Men  were  falling,  supply  trains  were 
overturned  and  ambulances  shattered,  houses  within 
our  lines  torn  in  pieces,  Meade's  headquarters  among 
them,  and  great  guns  dismounted.  Our  soldiers  not 
engaged  were  hiding  behind  every  projection,  hugging 
Mother  Earth  to  escape  the  fire  from  sevenscore  wide, 
hot  mouths  across  the  valley.  Meade  and  Hancock 
were  passing  among  the  men,  encouraging  them,  and 
watching  the  cannonade.  Fresh  guns  were  hurried  up 
to  take  the  place  of  those  shattered  or  dismounted;  new 
cannoneers  succeeded  the  fallen,  and  the  cannon  duel 
went  on. 

The  Southern  gunners  increased  the  speed  of  their 
volley  firing,  and  we  followed  with  an  equal  increase. 
Great  as  was  the  roar  of  the  exploding  gunpowder,  it 
could  not  drown  the  lash  of  the  projectiles  through  the 
air,  the  shrill  discord  of  sound  made  by  the  shells,  the 
shrapnel,  the  canister,  the  solid  shot,  and  all  the  other 
missiles  hurled  by  two  hundred  and  fifty  guns,  worked 
at  the  supreme  speed  of  skilled  cannoneers. 

But  the  Southern  generals  yet  felt  the  old  uncer- 
tainty, and  there  was  good  cause  for  it.  Our  resistance 
exceeded  all  their  anticipations,  and  the  dwindling 
stock  of  ammunition  was  heavy  on  their  minds.  They 
calculated  the  distance  across  the  valley,  looked  at  their 


THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  385 

brigades  lying  around  the  slopes,  and  then  up  at  the 
sun  that  marked  the  advancing  afternoon.  They  no- 
ticed presently  a  decline  in  our  tire,  and  they  hoped  that 
it  would  cease,  crushed  by  the  superior  fire  of  the  South. 
It  did  not  cease,  yet  most  of  the  old  swiftness  and  spirit 
seemed  to  be  gone.  They  began  to  feel  that  the  time 
had  come.  There  were  still  doubt  and  hesitation  among 
them,  a  belief  by  some  that  the  attack  should  be  made; 
by  others  that  it  should  be  postponed;  but  the  order 
was  sent  to  Pickett  and  his  Virginians  to  come. 
The  splendid  brigades  rose  up  for  the  task. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

HIGH-WATEE     MAEK 

It  was  mid-afternoon.  The  sun,  hotter  than  ever, 
filled  the  valley  with  fiery  rays,  flashed  along  swords  and 
bayonets,  and  glowed  in  the  wheat  fields,  where  the 
gold  was  slashed  with  red.     The  rocks  burned. 

The  cannonade  sank  to  a  few  stray  shots,  like  funeral 
guns;  then  it  ceased,  and,  driven  by  the  wind,  the  can- 
opy of  smoke  floated  away,  like  an  awning  suddenly 
drawn  back  on  invisible  rollers.  The  whole  battlefield 
leaped  into  the  light. 

A  cry  of  admiration  arose  from  the  two  armies.  We 
saw  the  magnificent  division  of  Pickett  standing  there, 
amid  the  sea  of  the  dead,  calm,  untroubled,  their  ranks 
even,  about  to  give  the  salute.  "We  knew  that  these 
were  soldiers.  We  were  soldiers  ourselves,  and  we  did 
not  withhold  applause.     Then  we  turned  to  our  guns. 

"  They  are  coming,"  I  said. 

"  We  are  ready,"  replied  Shaftoe. 

I  saw  them  distinctly  as  they  marched  toward  us  in 
the  burning  sunlight,  descending  the  slopes  in  solid 
array,  silent,  superb  in  order  and  bearing,  aflame  with 
ardour,  their  eyes  on  the  far  hills,  where  stood  their 
enemy,  four  thousand  five  hundred  men,  ready  to  march 
through  gates  of  fire. 

It  was  a  massive  column,  strong,  enduring,  and 
linked  together  as  if  made  of  flexible  steel.  The  men 
felt  the  swell  of  muscle  and  tightening  of  sinew  like 
386 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  387 

whipcord  as  they  stepped  in  their  pride,  and  the  ranks 
rose  and  fell  with  the  sweep  of  the  ground,  their  arms 
catching  the  sunlight  and  throwing  far  gleams.  The 
hot  air  which  bore  upon  its  breath  the  smell  of  burned 
powder,  stinging  their  faces  and  filling  their  lungs,  fed 
the  flame  of  battle  already  burning  so  brightly  in  their 
veins.  I  knew  as  they  marched  so  steadily  what  they 
felt,  and  for  the  moment  I  could  march  with  them. 

"  Plant  your  feet  deep,  Henry,"  said  Shaftoe. 

"  Yes,  they  still  come,"  I  replied. 

The  blood  was  leaping  in  my  veins.  Many  voices 
rang  in  my  ears.  The  men  out  there  were  my  kindred. 
I  was  bone  of  their  bone;  I,  too,  was  of  the  South,  and 
I  wished  for  a  moment  that  they  might  succeed.  They 
were  worthy  of  it — men  without  fear,  gentlemen,  un- 
afraid.    Then  the  feeling  passed. 

A  general  almost  involuntary  movement  occurred 
in  our  army.  It  seemed  to  contract,  to  cover  less  space, 
but  to  thicken  and  deepen,  as  if,  preparing  to  receive  a 
blow,  it  would  gather  its  full  strength  at  the  threatened 
point.  There  was  the  sound  of  moving  cannon,  the 
clink  of  bullets,  the  sigh  of  the  ramrod  in  the  barrel 
when  the  charge  was  driven  home,  and  the  mutter  of 
men  talking,  as  they  chose  shrapnel  and  canister. 

The  Virginians  gave  their  salute,  and  turned  their 
eyes  once  more  to  their  enemy.  They  saw  in  the  daz- 
zling sunlight  the  long  lines  of  our  army,  the  solid  array 
of  batteries,  the  mouths  of  many  cannon,  but  they  felt 
no  fear.     I  watched  them,  unable  to  take  my  eyes  away. 

They  swung  forward  again  with  long,  easy  steps, 
heads  erect,  shoulders  back,  the  hot  air  upon  their  faces 
and  the  sunlight  pouring  upon  their  heads.  They  knew 
that  they  drew  all  eyes;  they  knew  that  the  battle  had 
been  fought  so  far  without  them,  and  marking  well  the 
spot  in  the  great  concave  wall  of  blue  and  black  before 
them,  at  which  they  intended  to  strike,  they  came  with 
measured  tread.     Pickett  himself  led.     Kemper  took 


388  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  right  and  Armistead  the  left.  Other  columns  of 
men,  ten  thousand  in  number,  formed  on  the  flanks. 
But  the  Virginians  were  the  sword  blade  that  was  to  be 
driven  home  to  the  hilt.  They  were  to  win  the  victory 
for  the  South,  and  the  others  were  to  help  them  keep  it. 

The  light  of  the  sun  turned  to  fire;  all  its  rays 
seemed  to  be  poured  upon  the  valley  which  held  so 
many  dead.  It  was  like  an  arena,  and  these  Virginians 
were  the  gladiators,  kept  for  the  last  and  best  act. 
They  knew  the  greatness  and  danger  of  their  task,  but 
felt  that  it  was  an  increase  of  honour.  Their  two 
brigades  marched  steadily  toward  us,  facing  the  posi- 
tion held  by  Hancock,  every  eye  on  the  spot  chosen  for 
the  blow. 

The  field  was  still  silent,  save  for  the  advance  of  the 
Virginians.  The  wounded  raised  themselves  up  to  see; 
the  sun  beat  down  on  the  faces  of  the  dead;  the  march- 
ing soldiers  stepped  lightly  over  them,  and  in  our  lines 
sixty  thousand  men  looked  on. 

Forward  they  came  across  the  valley,  Pickett  meas- 
uring the  distance  with  his  eye,  and  the  men  marching 
with  the  long,  easy  stride  of  the  open-air  Virginian. 
Handfuls  of  smoke  lingered  among  the  clefts  and 
rocks,  or  floated  off  before  the  light  wind.  The  sun 
was  pitiless.  Its  heat  inclosed  all  the  field,  and  entered 
the  blood  of  the  Virginians.  It  burned  them,  and 
urged  them  to  action.  The  red  sprang  into  their  eyes. 
Our  lines  melted  into  one  great  blue  blur,  and  there  was 
a  haze  between.  The  Southern  shells  began  to  fly  over 
their  heads,  and  the  roar  of  the  cannon  swelled  behind 
them.  The  Virginians  paid  no  heed.  It  was  the  cov- 
ering fire  of  their  comrades.  Those  were  friendly 
shells  sounding  in  their  ears,  and  the  threat  of  the 
shrapnel  was  for  their  foe,  not  for  them. 

We  were  silent.  The  rifles  were  at  rest.  The  can- 
non mouths  facing  the  Virginians,  in  sombre  rows,  were 
voiceless.     They  may  have  thought  that  those  cannon 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  389 

had  been  crushed,  overwhelmed  by  the  fire  of  the  South, 
and  the  gunners  slain;  but  on  they  came  into  the  valley, 
keeping  their  ranks  over  the  rough  ground,  a  sword 
blade  of  tempered  steel  balanced  for  the  final  stroke. 
Well  did  they  deserve  the  cry  of  admiration  uttered  by 
both  armies! 

The  smoke  from  the  guns  of  their  comrades  began 
to  float  about  them.  The  valley  again  became  dim. 
The  sun  was  veiled,  but  the  intensity  of  the  heat  was 
not  relaxed.  The  air  grew  thick  and  sulphurous,  and 
the  men  breathed  heavily.  But  there  was  no  faltering 
among  the  Virginians.  They  marched  as  to  a  review. 
The  general  commanding  half  wheeled  to  the  left,  and 
they  wheeled  too  as  if  on  parade  and  came  on.  The 
smoke  from  the  guns  behind  them  passed  far  over 
their  heads,  and  was  banking  up  in  front  into  a 
great  bluish  wall  that  rose  up  and  hid  us.  It  seemed 
to  quiver  suddenly,  and  was  then  hurled  aside  by  a 
stream  of  fire.  The  report  of  forty  heavy  cannon, 
massed  directly  before  them,  roared  in  the  ears  of  the 
Virginians,  and  the  shells  and  shrapnel  slashed  their 
ranks.  Before  the  light  of  the  flash  died,  and  the 
smoke  closed  again  over  the  gap,  they  saw  our  gunners 
bending  over  the  guns,  and  to  right  and  left,  curving 
away  in  a  vast  semicircle,  thousands  and  thousands  of 
riflemen,  some  standing  behind  stone  fences,  some  be- 
hind hasty  walls  of  earth,  some  in  the  open — but  all 
ready. 

They  saw  then  that  our  artillery  had  not  been 
crushed.  It  was  there,  with  its  gunners  waiting.  One 
hundred  cannon  and  fifty  thousand  rifles  would  pour 
their  fire  upon  the  four  thousand  five  hundred  Virgin- 
ians. But  they  did  not  falter.  They  were  still  gen- 
tlemen, unafraid.  This  was  a  great  task,  but  they 
would  not  flinch  it.  They  closed  their  ranks  over  the 
fallen,  and  marched  on  into  the  heart  of  the  smoke 
and  flame. 


390  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

It  must  have  seemed  to  these  heroic  men  that  they 
were  truly  marching  through  gates  of  fire.  The  wall 
of  smoke  that  stood  in  front  of  them  was  rent  continu- 
ously now  by  the  blasts  of  the  cannon.  Solid  shot  beat 
upon  them,  shell  and  shrapnel  burst  among  them,  and 
the  canister  flew  in  their  faces.  In  their  ears  was 
always  the  roaring  of  guns,  and  the  fiercer  cry  of  the 
missiles.  Behind  them  they  left  the  long  red  trail  of 
their  dead. 

The  fire  01  a  whole  army  converged  upon  this  col- 
umn, battery  following  battery,  and  now  and  then  a 
half  dozen  firing  together  in  one  huge  gush  of  metal, 
while  always  the  shell  and  shrapnel  flew  to  the  mark. 
The  Virginians  had  been  in  the  sunlit  open  for  all 
to  see,  and  our  gunners  marked  well  their  course,  lash- 
ing their  squares  with  intersecting  showers,  and  in- 
creasing the  speed  of  their  fire  as  the  Virginians  came 
nearer.  The  batteries  worked  like  smooth  and  deadly 
machines.  None  spoke  there  save  the  chiefs,  who  gave 
sharp  orders,  but  the  cannoneers  breathed  hard  and  fast 
as  they  served  their  pieces  with  naked  brown  arms, 
upon  which  the  great  muscles  bunched  up  in  knots 
under  the  strain. 

The  Virginians  did  not  turn.  They  advanced  di- 
rectly into  the  storm  which  swelled  out  to  meet  them, 
and  began  the  ascent  of  our  slopes.  Their  numbers 
were  melting,  their  squares  were  dwindling,  incessantly 
shorn  away  by  the  cannon  fire,  but  their  ranks  were  un- 
broken, the  living  stepping  in  place  of  the  dead,  and 
on  they  came  to  the  music  of  the  guns. 

I  saw  these  men  again,  through  the  film  of  smoke 
and  fire,  and  again  my  heart  swelled,  for  I  knew  that 
they  had  not  flinched.  There  they  were  in  the  red 
haze,  coming  as  straight  as  ever.  I  looked  a  question  at 
Shaftoe.  He  did  not  speak;  his  voice  could  not  have 
been  heard  then,  and  he  looked  back  the  reply:  "  I  see; 
they  will  not  stop ! "     Once  more  I  felt  that  sense  of 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  391 

pride.  These  were  of  my  own  South,  and  Americans, 
too,  like  those  of  the  North. 

The  Virginians  wheeled  again,  and  this  time  to- 
ward the  right.  Over  their  heads  the  Southern  shells 
were  still  flying,  though  slowly  now.  The  bottoms  of 
the  ammunition  chests  were  in  plain  view,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  Southern  cannonade,  from  lack  of  material, 
declined;  yet  it  was  a  time  when  powder  and  shell  were 
most  needed  by  them. 

The  Virginians  looked  up  now  and  then,  when  the 
shells  flew  over  their  heads,  and  perhaps  they  noticed 
their  fewness,  but  they  took  no  alarm  from  it,  approach- 
ing with  the  same  steady  valour  and  resolved  purpose. 
But  they  needed  less  space  at  every  step.  The  heat  of 
the  fire  into  which  they  marched  was  increasing.  It 
licked  through  the  lines,  clipped  off  the  companies,  and 
ate  into  the  heart  of  the  brigades.  There  was  a  steady 
compression  of  the  squares,  closing  up  over  their  losses; 
the  solidity  remained,  but  the  size  decreased.  A  won- 
derful cutting  down  of  the  division  had  occurred  since 
its  start  a  few  hundred  yards  back,  but  there  was  no  de- 
crease in  its  speed.  The  men  swung  their  shoulders 
once  to  see  if  their  supports — the  ten  thousand — were 
there,  but  they  did  not  find  them.  "  Lost  in  the 
smoke!  "  thought  the  Virginians.  The  forty-five  hun- 
dred were  alone  marching  against  our  entire  army. 
The  fifty  thousand  rifles  facing  them  might  become 
sixty  thousand,  seventy  thousand;  the  hundred  cannon 
might  turn  to  two  hundred,  and  the  Virginians  knew  it, 
but  their  stride  was  unbroken,  though  they  were  now  on 
the  rocky  slopes,  and  their  object  was  still  the  same — 
the  heart  of  our  force. 

That  fire  in  front  served  as  a  beacon;  otherwise  they 
would  have  been  infolded  in  the  smoke  and  blinded 
by  it.  They  could  see  neither  to  right  nor  left,  but 
they  did  not  look  that  way.  Their  gaze  was  always 
in  front,  and  the  light  ahead  never  failed.     It  was 


392  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  light  of  destruction,  but  it  was  there  and  it  was  a 
beacon. 

We  marked  the  steady  advance  of  the  Virginians, 
and  wondered  at  it.  Exceptional  courage  had  become 
common  in  this  war,  but  we  had  not  seen  before  such 
an  exhibition  as  this.  The  admiration  shown  by  us, 
when  the  Virginians  first  appeared,  increased,  but  it  did 
not  diminish  by  one  particle  the  activity  of  our  men 
with  the  guns,  and  as  the  hostile  lines  approached,  the 
fire  upon  them  rapidly  grew  heavier,  fresh  cannon, 
which  had  been  short  of  all  but  canister,  opening  and 
doubling  the  volume  of  projectiles  thrown  into  the  faces 
of  the  advancing  men. 

Then  I  heard  a  shrill  crash  which  displaced  for  a 
moment  the  roar  of  the  cannon  in  my  ears.  It  was  a 
new  note,  angrier  and  sharper  than  that  of  the  great 
guns — the  voice  of  countless  rifles,  and  the  bullets 
flew  among  the  Virginians,  cutting  down  their  squares 
twice  as  fast  as  before.  The  wall  of  fire  in  their  front 
broadened  and  rose.  No  chance  for  the  smoke  bank  to 
settle  down  now!  It  was  blown  away  always  by  the 
cannon  and  rifles.  Perhaps  the  thoughts  of  some  of 
the  Virginians  as  they  marched  reached  back  to  their 
own  Virginia  hillsides,  which  they  now  knew  few  would 
ever  see  again,  but  it  was  only  a  brief  memory,  and 
their  minds  turned  again  to  the  enemy  before  them. 
They  had  crossed  some  fields,  inclosed  by  strong  fences, 
yet  these  obstacles  did  not  even  break  their  order,  and 
they  were  now  at  the  foot  of  our  hill  that  they  were  to 
attack.  They  swung  their  shoulders  again  to  feel  for 
their  supports,  but  still  they  were  not  there.  The  ten 
thousand  seemed  hopelessly  lost  in  the  smoke,  and  the 
Virginians  began  to  climb  the  hill. 

Our  lines  were  only  two  hundred  yards  away,  and, 
beyond,  the  Virginians  saw  their  destination,  the  heart 
of  the  Northern  army,  a  little  grove  of  trees,  oaks, 
gnarled  and  dwarfed,  fit  emblems  of  the  stern  soil  on 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  393 

which  they  grew.  These  were  the  distinguishing  mark 
of  a  narrow  plateau,  bounded  on  the  west  by  rocks  ris- 
ing four  or  five  feet,  placed  there  by  Nature,  like  a  wall. 
Across  the  same  plateau  ran  a  stone  fence,  from  whose 
shelter  batteries  were  blazing,  and  in  a  second  direction 
ran  another.  Eocks  and  fences  were  lined  with  troops, 
and  their  crests  were  aflame.  The  scrubby  trees  seemed 
to  be  surrounded  with  strong  fortifications,  and  the  goal 
of  the  Virginians  was  high.  They  saw  it  all  by  the 
light  of  the  guns,  the  plateau,  the  dwarfed  oaks  in  their 
summer  green,  the  walls  and  fences,  the  batteries  piled 
against  each  other,  and  the  great  army  bending  for- 
ward to  meet  them.  The  whistle  of  the  friendly  shells 
over  their  heads  was  lost  in  the  hostile  crash. 

The  Virginians  began  to  discharge  their  rifles, 
shooting  steadily  and  straight,  replying  at  last  to  the 
fire  which  had  so  long  beat  upon  them.  But  their  own 
approach  made  of  them  a  better  target.  The  vast  fire 
of  small  arms  bent  upon  them  increased,  the  bullets 
from  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  rifles  flying 
straight  at  the  column — a  fire  that  filled  the  air  with 
singing  lead  and  beat  upon  the  Virginians  like  a  storm, 
deadly,  incessant,  pitiless.  The  red  trail  that  they  left 
behind  them  widened,  the  squares  melted  half  away,  our 
army  infolded  them,  the  cannon  and  the  rifles  crashed 
upon  them  from  the  front,  from  the  right,  from  the 
left.  Never  before  had  men  marched  into  such  a  fire. 
Behind  them  only  stood  no  foes,  but  the  Virginians  had 
no  thought  of  going  that  way.  Before  them  waved  the 
scrubby  oaks,  their  green  turned  red  in  the  cannon 
glare;  around  them  was  a  sea  of  hostile  faces,  a  flood 
that  poured  on  them,  but  they  did  not  falter. 

They  were  still  in  compact  squares,  closing  up  of 
their  own  accord,  and  pressed  together  by  the  fire  of 
our  army,  that  now  struck  them  on  three  sides.  They 
felt  the  Northern  enemy  at  their  throat,  and,  stretching 
their  muscles,  they  threw  him  off,  only  to  see  him  press- 


394  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

ing  down  again  with  the  same  force  and  weight.  They 
marched  on,  cleaving  the  way,  loading  and  firing  their 
rifles,  sending  volley  after  volley,  which  seemed  to  be 
lost  in  the  heaving  wall  of  blue,  and  keeping  their  eyes 
steadily  fixed  on  the  clump  of  trees  which  they  had 
chosen  for  their  goal.  They  never  looked  back  now  at 
the  red  trail  they  left,  but,  heads  yet  erect,  pushed  on  in 
the  deepening  fire. 

Their  generals  were  still  alive — Pickett,  Armistead, 
Garnett,  Kemper,  and  the  others.  They  pointed  with 
their  swords  through  the  red  mist  toward  the  trees,  and 
the  mangled  squares  of  the  Virginians,  gathering  them- 
selves anew,  rushed  on  at  double  speed.  Garnett,  who 
led  the  first  brigade,  dropped  dead  on  the  slope.  His 
men  paused  a  moment  and  fired,  their  bullets  covering 
with  black  spots  the  stone  wall  that  sheltered  the 
Northern  troops  just  before  them.  Then  their  com- 
rades pressed  on  from  behind,  and  all  sprang  forward 
together,  raising  a  tremendous  shout,  for  they  were  now 
about  to  come  to  close  quarters. 

Some  of  our  troops  shrank  back,  not  afraid,  but 
amazed  at  this  red  body  of  men  hurled  among  us,  as  if 
utterly  reckless  of  death.  It  reminded  them  of  nothing 
so  much  as  a  dripping  sword  blade  thrust  forward  with 
vehement  force.  It  was  cutting  its  way  through  all  ob- 
stacles, a  wonderful  exhibition  of  courage  and  daring. 
Hancock,  the  ever-ready,  suddenly  brought  up  a  fresh 
division  and  poured  a  new  fire  upon  the  flank  of  the 
Virginians,  slashing  their  lines  and  littering  the 
ground  with  their  fallen,  but  it  made  no  difference  with 
their  course.  A  solid,  compact  mass,  they  hurled  them- 
selves like  a  single  huge  cannon  shot  upon  us. 

A  deep  shiver  ran  through  our  army,  and  the 
squares  burst  apart  beneath  the  blow.  Then  the 
mighty  mass  recovered  and  threw  itself  upon  the  Vir- 
ginians. 

But  it  was  impossible  to  stop  this  bolt,  shot  with 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  395 

so  much  force.  The  Virginians  pierced  our  front 
lines  and  drove  at  those  behind.  They  were  mad  with 
the  fury  of  the  moment,  still  a  cohesive  body,  red 
and  dripping,  fierce  and  indomitable,  surrounded  and 
pressed  by  overwhelming  numbers,  but  unafraid,  their 
lines  flaming  with  the  fire  of  their  rifles,  their  bayonets 
flashing,  and  still  cleaving  their  way  to  the  heart  of 
our  force.  Our  breath  was  on  their  faces.  Bayonets 
crossed  with  theirs,  but  beyond  stood  the  trees  that  they 
had  marked  as  their  halting  place,  and  they  would 
not  stop.  Everything  was  in  a  flame  to  them.  They 
could  hear  invisible  drums  beating  them  on,  and  the 
projectiles  played  the  same  tune. 

Our  generals  redoubled  the  attack;  they  whirled 
into  line  guns  that  had  been  resting;  troops  not  yet  in 
the  battle  were  rushed  into  the  mass;  from  the  clump 
of  trees  marked  by  the  Virginians  as  their  prize,  Cush- 
ing  and  his  cannon  opened  fire.  Some  of  the  brigades, 
turning  about,  closed  in  from  behind,  and  the  Vir- 
ginians pressed  on,  the  centre  of  a  gigantic  combat  that 
inclosed  them,  a  turmoil  of  men  fighting  hand  to  hand, 
of  smoke  and  flame  gushing  from  many  cannon  and 
rifles,  of  the  crash  of  artillery,  of  blood,  sweat,  cries, 
and  death. 

The  Virginians  shook  off  for  a  moment  the  mass 
that  clung  to  them,  but  it  hurled  itself  back,  heavier, 
more  crushing  than  ever.  Their  steps  became  slower, 
the  trees  seemed  farther  away,  the  clouds  of  smoke 
strangled  them,  the  flames  burned  their  faces,  the 
streams  of  projectiles  slashed  their  ranks,  and  the  sun- 
light, piercing  at  times  through  the  smoke,  showed  the 
shattered  squares  dissolving  like  mists  under  that 
frightful  fire.  A  groan  arose  from  the  Virginians. 
But  few  of  their  squares  were  left.  The  trees,  waving 
their  green  boughs  in  the  gentle  wind,  were  only  a 
little  distance  away.  Biit  they  had  not  been  reached. 
Beneath  these  boughs  stood  the  guns  of  Cushing,  firing 
20 


396  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

upon  the  enemy  as  fast  as  the  cannoneers  could  load 
them. 

"  Come! "  shouted  the  fiery  Armistead,  snatching 
off  his  hat  and  raising  it  on  the  point  of  his  sword. 

He  rushed  forward  upon  the  cannon.  A  few  men, 
sevenscore  perhaps,  followed  him.  The  others  were 
smothered  by  the  hostile  mass,  which  poured  over  them, 
wave  after  wave,  like  a  flood. 

Northern  troops  rushed  in  before  Armistead.  He 
and  his  sevenscore  cut  through  them,  but  all  were 
mingled  in  a  turmoil,  a  confused,  struggling  heap,  and 
the  cannon  feared  to  fire  where  friend  and  foe  alike 
would  be  the  target. 

A  fierce  combat  began  before  the  guns,  a  medley  of 
rifle  and  pistol  shots,  of  metal  ringing  on  metal,  of 
shouts,  cries,  and  oaths,  and  a  pillar  of  flame  and  smoke 
inclosed  it  all. 

The  Virginians  passed  through,  Armistead  still  at 
their  head,  and  sprang  upon  Cushing's  guns.  They 
had  reached  the  trees,  the  heart  of  our  army,  but  only  a 
hundred  of  them  were  there.  Over  them  waved  the 
green  foliage,  and  before  them,  eye  to  eye,  were  the 
Northern  men. 

The  gunners  and  the  soldiers  supporting  them 
threw  themselves  upon  the  little  band  of  Virginians, 
and  they  fought  over  the  cannon.  Armistead,  shot 
through  by  many  bullets,  fell,  and  Cushing  fell  beside 
him.  There,  with  the  hot  July  sun  on  their  faces,  they 
lay,  dying  under  the  clump  of  trees,  the  high-water 
mark  of  the  South. 

The  little  band  that  came  were  overwhelmed,  slain, 
or  captured.  From  the  battle  slope  behind  them, 
through  which  they  had  passed,  rose  all  the  sounds  of 
conflict.  The  others  were  not  able  to  follow.  Our 
troops  had  closed  in  again  and  shut  the  way.  These 
Virginians  who  had  not  yet  reached  the  trees  might 
have  turned  back,  but  they  would  not.     They  stood 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  397 

there,  in  the  centre  of  our  army,  firing  their  rifles,  their 
flags  planted  on  captured  breastworks,  unable  to  come 
forward,  refusing  to  go  backward,  all  their  generals 
killed  but  Pickett,  all  their  field  officers  fallen,  save 
one  lieutenant-colonel;  three  generals,  fifteen  field  offi- 
cers down,  yet  refusing  to  yield. 

They  no  longer  hoped  for  a  triumph.  Its  impossi- 
bility was  evident  to  all,  but  the  spirit  of  resistance  was 
strong.  They  had  not  come  so  far  merely  to  surrender. 
They  heard  their  enemies  shouting  to  them  to  yield, 
but  the  cries  made  no  impression  upon  them,  and  with 
rifles  pointed  in  every  direction  they  faced  the  shells 
and  bullets.  Their  squares  were  crumbling  fast.  The 
close  lines  around  them  were  contracting,  and  soon  they 
would  need  but  little  space. 

There  was  a  tremendous  discharge  of  artillery  into 
their  ranks,  and  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  settled  over 
the  Virginians.  Before  it  raised,  some  bodies  of  men 
burst  through  and  joined  them.  They  were  friends, 
fragments  of  the  supports  which  had  been  lost  in  the 
cannon  smoke,  and  were  fighting  at  the  wrong  place. 
Detached  from  their  comrades,  these  wandered  at  last 
toward  the  Virginians,  and,  breaking  through  the  circle 
of  foes,  united  themselves  with  the  remnants  of  Pick- 
ett's men.  There  they  stood  together,  cheered  by  the 
partnership,  yet  lost  in  the  mass  of  enemies  who  con- 
verged upon  them,  the  odds  as  great  as  ever. 

The  Virginians  and  their  new  comrades  could  see 
but  dimly.  The  smoke  was  in  their  eyes,  the  heat  was 
still  in  their  blood,  but  there  was  no  longer  any  hope, 
any  anticipation  of  victory.  Nothing  was  left  for  them 
but  to  stand  to  the  last,  and  that  they  prepared  to  do. 
Their  numbers  were  decreasing  so  fast  that  soon  they 
must  disappear  wholly.  The  force  pressing  upon  them 
was  so  great  that  their  own  fire  made  no  impression 
upon  it.  The  attack  had  failed  for  the  South,  and  with 
it  the  entire  battle.     Yet  they  fought,  while  the  ring 


398  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

around  them,  a  mass  of  many  thousand  men,  pressed 
closer  and  closer,  infolding  and  crushing  them. 

Now  the  smoke  that  hung  in  a  vast  bank  over  Ceme- 
tery Hill  was  kindly  blotting  out  the  difference  be- 
tween friend  and  foe,  and  from  the  tangle  and  density 
came  some  of  the  Southerners,,  cast  forth  as  it  were 
from  a  cloud  of  fire;  stragglers  here,  a  company  there, 
disordered  groups,  scorched  and  battered  survivors. 

I  was  one  of  those  in  the  great  circle  that  pressed 
upon  the  Virginians,  and  upon  the  few  who  joined  them 
at  the  last  moment.  I  had  never  lost  my  admiration  for 
these  brave  men  and  their  wonderful  march,  but  I  did 
not  forget  that  they  were  my  official  enemies.  As  the 
figures  of  those  who  yet  lived  shot  out  of  the  smoke 
bank,  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  a  tall  man,  whose 
long  white  hair  was  flying  about  his  head. 

"  Surrender,  major!  "  I  cried;  "  it  is  I — Kings- 
ford!  " 

Major  Titus  Tyler  looked  at  me  a  moment  as  if  he 
did  not  recognise  me,  like  one  dazed,  then  he  dropped 
his  sword,  and  suddenly  burst  out  weeping. 

"Where  are  the  others,  Henry?"  he  cried;  "am  I 
the  only  one  left  alive?  " 

I  looked  for  his  comrades,  and  I  could  not  answer 
him.  I  saw  nothing  but  our  army,  and  the  smoke,  and 
the  flash  of  the  firing  which  inclosed  and  compressed 
the  last  of  the  Southern  column.  The  major  put  his 
hands  before  his  eyes  and  said  not  another  word. 

The  ring  of  blue  drew  its  coils  tighter  and  tighter 
and  crushed  the  Virginians.  The  firing  sank  suddenly, 
the  smoke  lifted  a  little,  and  when  we  looked  again  we 
saw  no  enemy. 

Out  of  the  forty-five  hundred  who  came  up  the  hill, 
only  one  thousand  went  back  to  the  Southern  army. 

When  the  fragments  of  the  Virginians  burst  out  of 
the  fire  and  smoke,  the  Southern  leaders  on  Seminary 


HIGH-WATER  MARK  399 

Kidge  knew  that  the  battle  was  over,  and  the  last  blow 
had  failed;  but  the  reserves  advanced  and  met  the  fugi- 
tives, the  batteries  were  ready,  and  the  Army  of  North- 
ern Virginia,  calm  and  threatening,  bade  us  come  if  we 
would. 

Fortune,  wavering  for  three  days,  had  given  her  de- 
cree at  last.     The  South  had  lost;  the  North  had  won. 

But  the  South  was  still  defiant.  She  stood  upon 
her  hill,  arms  in  hand,  and  said  to  us,  "  Touch  me  if 
you  dare! " 


CHAPTER   XLIV 


THE   FIELD    OF   THE    SLAIN 


Gettysburg  was  ended.  The  little  town,  before 
unknown,  and  yet  scarcely  realizing  it,  took  her  famous 
place  in  history.  The  fire  of  the  cannon  and  the  rifles 
died,  and  one  of  those  strange  silences  that  marked  at 
times  the  changes  of  this  battle  came  over  the  field. 

The  two  armies,  North  and  South,  stood  upon  their 
opposing  hills  looking  at  each  other,  the  South  a  hedge 
of  arms,  fierce,  challenging,  sure  that  she  could  repel 
any  attack,  and  inviting  it. 

The  attack  did  not  come.  The  silence  lasted.  The 
sun  was  yet  high  in  the  skies,  and  its  dazzling  light 
drove  the  smoke  away.  The  valley,  now  truly  a  valley 
of  the  dead,  stained,  torn  by  cannon  shot,  filled  with 
bodies,  rose  up  from  the  vapours  and  confronted  both 
North  and  South. 

A  deep  sense  of  awe  crept  over  us  all.  The  collapse 
came  from  the  passions,  the  tumults,  the  carnage,  all 
the  terrible  struggles  of  so  many  days  and  nights;  we 
saw  between  us  what  we  had  done:  fifty  thousand  men 
killed  or  wounded,  a  wreck  unparalleled,  countrymen 
all,  the  grandsons  of  men  who  had  fought  beside  each 
other  to  establish  the  same  country.  We  were  appalled, 
because  the  picture  of  Gettysburg,  after  the  fiercest  pas- 
sion was  over  and  while  the  field  was  yet  fresh,  made 
upon  every  brain  the  impression  that  the  triumph  was 
400 


THE   FIELD  OF  THE  SLAIN  401 

to  none  of  us.  We  were  destroyers,  and  we  beheld 
our  work! 

The  singular  pause  endured;  the  clouds  and  shreds 
of  smoke  floated  far  away  over  the  ridges;  the  sky  be- 
came again  a  sheet  of  burning  blue;  the  heat  of  the 
sun  grew  more  intense;  its  rays,  brilliant  and  searching, 
were  poured  upon  the  hills,  and  the  valley  and  every 
rock  stood  out  like  carving;  there  frowned  the  Eound 
Tops;  yonder,  in  the  Devil's  Den,  where  the  sharp- 
shooters lay  dead,  the  shadows  still  hovered.  Upon 
the  slope  of  Cemetery  Hill,  Lee  could  see  the  clump  of 
trees,  the  dwarfed  oaks,  beneath  which  Armistead  and 
Cushing  had  fallen  side  by  side,  the  extreme  point  to 
which  the  fire  and  pride  of  the  Virginians  had  carried 
them. 

The  silence  was  succeeded  by  that  murmur  and 
rumble  so  familiar  to  the  ears  of  the  troops;  we  began 
to  recover  from  our  stupefaction,  the  deep  sense  of  op- 
pression that  overwhelmed  us,  and  we  moved  about 
and  began  to  talk  again,  glad  that  the  battle  was  over, 
glad  that  we  were  alive,  and  seeking  to  discover  what 
comrades  also  lived. 

"  Will  they  come  again?  "  I  asked  of  Shaftoe. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  veteran,  willing  for  once 
to  be  a  tentative  prophet.  "  All  of  us  have  had  enough. 
When  I  think  of  the  last  three  days  I  wonder  how  you, 
or  I,  or  anybody  else  come  to  be  alive." 

I  did  not  answer.  I  was  enjoying  the  luxury  of  rest, 
lying  upon  the  ground  with  every  limb  relaxed,  feeling 
now  the  long  strain  of  the  three  days,  and  thinking  of 
Elinor. 

The  afternoon  began  to  wane.  The  fire  of  the  sun 
abated,  the  dense,  tremulous  heat  yielded  to  the  shadows 
of  the  twilight.  The  wounded  turned  their  faces  to  the 
skies  and  thanked  God  that  the  night  was  coming.  The 
west  glowed  redly,  but  the  east  was  gray.  The  two 
armies,  watching  each  other,  saw  figures  become  dim 


402  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

and  blend  into  the  group.  Then  night,  lighted  by  the 
clear  and  full  moon,  sank  down  for  the  third  time  over 
this  field  of  the  slain. 

Gettysburg  was  ended,  but  the  country  yet  knew  it 
not.  The  wires  that  had  clicked  so  volubly  for  many 
days  were  still  clicking,  asking  their  unanswered  ques- 
tions; the  rumours  and  reports  that  came  to  the  great 
cities  were  swelling  in  volume,  and  sometimes  spoke 
with  a  certain  note,  but  men  knew  nothing  to  believe, 
much  to  disbelieve.  Gettysburg  was  yet  without  its 
sombre  fame,  save  to  itself. 

That  night  those  of  either  army  who  had  not  work 
to  do  slept  the  deep  sleep,  or  rather  lay  in  the  torpor  of 
utter  collapse,  resting  from  three  days  of  supreme  effort 
and  emotion — three  such  days  as  America  had  never 
known  before.  Some  of  the  wounded  were  gathered 
up,  but  others  who  could  not  move  lay  where  they 
had  fallen,  and  they  were  many;  far  up  the  thousands 
went  the  tragic  roll.  But  the  noise  was  slight  for 
that  narrow  area  upon  which  so  many  men  were 
gathered;  the  wounded,  as  usual,  were  uncomplaining, 
awaiting  in  silence  the  help  that  would  or  would  not 
come. 

It  was  about  the  twilight  hour  when  I  found  Elinor 
again.  She  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  Pembroke,  who 
was  lying  on  a  blanket,  and  the  wounded  man's  eyes 
followed  her  in  a  manner  that  stirred  my  sympathy. 
Elinor's  own  face  was  pale — paler  than  I  had  ever  seen 
it  before,  and  I  understood  what  it  was  to  a  woman 
to  witness  such  a  battle  as  Gettysburg. 

"  Is  it  all  over,  Henry?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  think  so,"  I  replied. 

"  I  shall  hear  all  those  guns  again — many  times,'* 
she  said. 

Pembroke  raised  himself  on  his  arm  and  looked 
at  me. 

"  Henry,"  he  said,  "  I  know  that  we  were  driven 


THE  FIELD  OF  THE  SLAIN  403 

back.  Major  Tyler  has  been  here,  and  he  told  me,  but 
he  says  that  we  made  a  great  fight." 

"  There  was  never  a  better/'  I  replied.  "  The 
charge  of  the  Virginians  has  no  equal." 

A  trim  figure  stepped  into  the  light.  It  was  Major 
Titus  Tyler,  a  prisoner — my  prisoner  even,  but  restored 
to  his  own  cheerful  bearing. 

"  You  have  not  conquered  us,  Henry,"  he  said. 
"  "We  have  simply  worn  ourselves  out  beating  you,  and 
shall  have  to  give  up.  The  odds  against  us  are  too 
great.  I  knew  that  we  must  fail  when,  looking  across 
at  this  hill,  I  saw  a  general  ride  out  on  a  white  horse, 
and  heard  him  shout  to  his  men  the  command:  '  By 
nations  right  wheel;  forward  march  the  world! ' " 

Then  he  proceeded  to  prove  to  us  his  proposition. 

The  night  passed  on,  and  the  darkest  hours  came, 
without  a  shot.  Even  the  skirmishers  were  quiet;  every 
unsatisfied  ambition  cherished  by  them  had  been  grati- 
fied in  those  three  days  so  full  of  opportunities;  there 
was  no  need  for  industry,  and  they  rested.  The  lights 
of  torches  and  camp  fires  glowed  again  on  the  opposing 
hills  and  slopes,  but,  to  those  who  watched,  these 
beacons  seemed  more  friendly  to-night,  as  if  an  end  had 
come  for  a  time  to  passion,  and  men  might  sleep  in 
peace,  even  under  the  guns  of  the  enemy. 

The  day  came,  the  morning  of  July  4,  1863,  the 
national  anniversary,  flooding  the  world  with  light, 
and  showing  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  its  enemy  for- 
tified on  Seminary  Eidge  and  defying  attack,  even  in- 
viting it.  Its  front  was  a  hedge  of  cannon  mouths,  and 
behind  these  the  riflemen  stood  in  deep  rows;  it  was 
impervious  to  assault,  and  Meade  again  waited,  content 
now  to  watch  his  formidable  antagonist. 

The  sun,  so  bright  at  daylight,  was  soon  dimmed 
by  gray  vapours  rising  on  the  far  horizon;  the  close, 
tremulous  heat  was  again  in  the  air,  the  earth  perspired; 
the  morning  was  growing  hotter,  closer,  and  darker. 


404  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

The  ctey,  the  national  anniversary,  spent  in  so 
strange  a  manner,  was  verging  on  toward  noon,  and  the 
heat  was  increasing  in  density;  the  vapours  rising  on 
the  horizon  grew  to  clouds  of  steely  blue,  darkening  to 
gray,  and  then  to  black,  rolling  in  sombre  waves  before 
the  sun  and  hiding  its  light;  the  faint  breeze  died; 
the  trampled  grass  ceased  to  quiver,  the  red  stains  upon 
it  turned  to  brown;  imprisoned  in  this  damp,  close  air, 
which  lay  so  heavily  upon  the  lungs,  the  men  lost  their 
energy  and  the  horses  drooped. 

"  A  storm  is  about  to  break,"  said  a  young  soldier 
beside  me. 

"  It's  time,"  said  another. 

The  earth  was  in  complete  stillness,  save  for  the 
murmur  and  movement  of  soldiers.  The  day  dark- 
ened to  the  verge  of  twilight,  the  clouds  in  formless 
legions  rolled 'across  the  sky,  the  deep  hush  of  Nature 
seemed  full  of  expectancy.  Like  the  army,  it  was  wait- 
ing, but  the  stillness  was  broken  in  a  few  moments  by 
the  mutter  of  thunder  from  the  west;  the  mutter  grew 
to  a  rumble,  and  the  rumble  to  a  crash  and  a  peal; 
strokes  of  lightning  burned  across  the  sky  and  blazed  in 
the  eyes  of  the  soldiers,  a  rushing  noise  mingled  with 
the  peal  of  the  thunder,  and  afar  we  saw  the  sweep  of 
the  rain  and  the  wind;  the  big  drops  began  to  fall,  and 
the  dry  earth  steamed  at  their  touch;  the  wounded  felt 
the  cool  water  on  their  faces,  and  were  grateful. 

"  The  tear-drops  of  God!  "  said  a  young  soldier  with 
florid  imagery  as  he  looked  over  the  bloody  field. 

The  rush  of  the  rain  deepened  to  a  roar,  and  then  it 
burst  in  torrents  upon  the  camps,  flooding  the  armies, 
soaking  the  dry  earth,  which  thankfully  drank  it  up, 
giving  back  the  deep  green  to  the  foliage,  rushing  in 
streams  down  the  slopes  on  which  the  brigades  lately 
had  been  fighting  with  such  fire,  and  washing  from  the 
grass  the  plentiful  red  that  war  had  put  there. 

All  Nature  responded,  indifferent  to  the  battle  that 


THE  FIELD  OF  THE  SLAIN  405 

had  raged  so  long,  or  forgetful  that  it  had  been.  The 
trampled  grass,  free  from  its  red  stains,  straightened 
up  and  glowed  in  green  again,  the  wheat  shone  in 
pure  gold,  on  the  far  hills  the  forests  were  masses  of 
fresh  foliage,  and  the  earth,  so  lately  burned  and  dead, 
leaped  to  life,  luxuriating  in  new  sap  and  growth. 

"  This  makes  marching  difficult,"  said  Shaftoe. 
"  The  artillery  will  plough  to  the  hubs  in  the  mud." 

"  But  nobody  is  marching,"  I  said. 

Shaftoe  did  not  reply,  nor  did  he  take  his  attentive, 
inquiring  eyes  from  the  army  on  the  opposite  ridge. 

The  rain  ceased  by  and  by,  and  when  the  sunlight 
broke  through  the  thinning  clouds,  the  Army  of  North- 
ern Virginia  turned  its  head  toward  the  south  and  be- 
gan to  march  away,  leaving  behind  it  the  fatal  field  of 
Gettysburg,  but  as  defiant  as  ever,  its  rear  and  flanks 
lined  with  batteries,  the  cavalry  covering  the  wagons 
containing  its  supplies  and  wounded,  these  wagons 
forming  a  chain  so  long  that,  when  the  first  at  mid- 
night were  beyond  Cashtown,  sixteen  miles  away,  the 
last  were  still  at  Gettysburg — an  army  conscious  that  it 
had  failed  in  a  great  attempt,  yet  had  made  a  new  record 
for  courage  and  endurance,  and  was  still  saying  to  its 
enemy,  "  Touch  me  if  you  dare !  "  There  was  no  sign  of 
fear  or  even  panic  in  the  ranks  of  its  men;  their  faith 
in  their  commander  was  still  complete.  No  complaints 
arose  from  the  sixteen  miles  of  wounded  who  stretched 
in  a  long,  black  line  over  the  muddy  roads  and  fields 
and  through  the  darkness;  men  with  the  white  faces 
of  pain  who  lay  in  rough  carts  and  had  nothing  to 
cheer  them  but  their  own  courage  and  the  sympathetic 
gaze  of  the  watchful  horsemen  riding  beside  them  and 
bending  down  now  and  then  to  ask  what  they  wished. 

There  have  been  few  processions  more  solemn  than 
the  one  that  took  its  way  toward  the  south  that  night 
with  its  fifteen  thousand  or  more  of  wounded,  marching 
in  the  rain  and  the  darkness,  but  without  lament. 


406  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

Many  began  to  believe  now  that  the  Southern  invasion 
had  rolled  back  forever;  that  the  little  clump  of  trees 
on  Cemetery  Hill  was  the  Southern  high-water  mark, 
and  would  remain  so;  that  the  brilliant  period  of  the 
war  had  passed  for  the  South,  and  henceforth  she  was 
to  fight  without  hope,  and  many  more  were  to  know 
these  facts  soon.  Yet  none  thought  of  yielding.  The 
only  way  to  conquer  the  Southern  army  was  to  destroy 
it.  The  North  was  to  find  the  road  to  Eichmond  still 
long  and  weary. 

When  the  Southern  army  began  to  retreat,  our  gen- 
erals held  a  council.  Should  they  or  should  they  not 
attack?  They  looked  around  at  their  broken  brigades, 
estimated  their  vast  losses,  and  with  the  one  voice  said 
"No."  The  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  done  enough 
for  the  present. 

The  same  day  the  voluble  wires  ceased  to  click  and 
ask  their  unanswered  questions.  The  proclamation  of 
the  President  announced  to  the  nation  that  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia  had  been  defeated.  Throughout 
the  North  swelled  the  mighty  wave  of  rejoicing. 

The  next  morning  the  last  Southern  soldier  was 
gone  from  Seminary  Ridge. 


CHAPTER   XLV 

THE    LAST   OF   A   LATEE   ROMAN 

It  was  ten  months  later,  and  Paul  Warner  was  en- 
tertaining his  friends  in  a  magnificent  marquee  on  Vir- 
ginia soil,  in  the  rear  of  the  Northern  army.  There 
had  been  three  fat  years  for  Mr.  Warner,  and  he  shed 
good  humour  as  the  sun  sheds  rays.  His  clothes  were 
rich,  and  a  single  diamond  blazed  from  the  soft  folds  of 
the  tie  that  encircled  his  huge  neck.  He  had  a  great 
capacity  for  making  friends,  and  a  yet  greater  capacity, 
it  was  said,  for  using  them.  But  Mr.  Warner  was  a 
host  again,  and  in  that  office  his  intentions  were  good. 
It  was  May,  and  the  Virginia  sun  was  warm,  but  sher- 
bets and  wines  cooled  in  ice  were  served  to  all  who 
wished.  In  front  of  us  was  a  red,  sterile  country,  bear- 
ing only  bushes  and  dwarfed  trees,  a  region  wonderfully 
like  that  through  which  I  had  passed  on  the  night  I 
saw  Lee  and  Jackson  planning  Chancellorsville.  A 
line  of  soldiers  in  faded  blue  were  marching  over  a 
distant  hill,  and  beyond  them  arose  a  spire  of  smoke. 

My  wife,  Elinor,  sat  on  a  camp  stool  near  the  en- 
trance of  the  tent.  She  was  dressed  simply  in  gray, 
the  only  touch  of  colour  being  a  pink  ribbon  at  her 
throat.  I  had  taken  her  to  Washington  immediately 
after  Gettysburg  and  given  her  into  the  care  of  her 
uncle,  Paul  Warner.  He  loved  her,  and  was  proud  of 
her,  however  much  repugnance  both  she  and  I  might 
feel  toward  him.     Now,  Mr.  Warner,  as  he  followed 

407 


408  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  with  which  he  transacted  a 
large  and  profitable  business,  insisted  upon  entertain- 
ing his  friends,  and  he  demanded  the  presence  of  Elinor 
that  she  might  do  him  honour. 

"  Do  you  think  that  Grant  will  succeed  in  crushing 
Lee?"  asked  Mr.  Upton,  a  member  of  Congress,  of 
me.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  high  cheek  bones, 
and  eyes  close  together.  He  affected  ministerial  gar- 
ments and  a  ministerial  air,  and  it  was  his  custom  to 
denounce  in  Congress  as  extravagant  any  measure  that 
entailed  the  expenditure  of  money.  By  doing  so  he 
acquired  a  great  reputation  for  sagacity  and  economy, 
and  was  known  as  a  custodian  of  the  people's  rights. 
He  and  Paul  Warner  were  great  friends. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  replied;  "  but  I  am  sure  that 
he  will  not  be  turned  back  so  easily  as  our  other  gener- 
als who  invaded  Virginia." 

The  chief  impression  that  Grant  formed  upon  my 
mind  at  Shiloh  was  that  of  will  and  endurance,  and  it 
was  confirmed  by  the  few  glimpses  I  had  caught  of 
him  in  the  East.  Now  he  was  leading  us,  and  we  were 
expecting  the  two  supreme  commanders  of  the  war  to 
meet  in  decisive  conflict. 

"  You  might  ask  the  question  of  General  Grant  him- 
self," said  Elinor,  with  a  smile,  "  for  see,  he  is  com- 
ing! " 

She  spoke  the  truth.  General  Grant  had  alighted 
from  his  horse  already,  and,  accompanied  by  an  aide, 
was  walking  toward  us.  He  was  not  imposing,  but  his 
short,  square  figure  seemed  to  me  to  express  unflinch- 
ing resolution. 

Paul  Warner,  Mr.  Upton,  and  most  of  the  others 
were  effusive  in  their  welcome.  "  I  had  invited  you, 
general,  but  I  scarcely  hoped  for  your  presence.  You 
fall  upon  us,  as  you  fall  upon  the  enemy,  when  you  are 
not  expected,"  said  Mr.  Warner,  meaning  to  pay  a  com- 
pliment.    The  general  smiled  faintly,  but  did  not  an- 


THE  LAST  OF  A  LATER  ROMAN  409 

swer.  Then  the  introductions  were  made,  and  he  be- 
gan to  talk  to  Elinor.  He  took  an  ice,  but  would  touch 
no  wine.  I  noticed  that  his  uniform  was  much  soiled 
and  his  beard  unshaven. 

I  was  outside  the  tent,  and  a  senator,  a  large  man 
from  one  of  the  richest  Northern  States,  was  standing 
beside  me.  I  was  off  duty  that  day,  after  a  period  of 
unusually  long  and  hard  service. 

"Do  you  notice  that  smoke?"  asked  the  senator 
of  me,  pointing  toward  the  thin  bluish  spire.  "  It  is 
increasing." 

"  I  see,"  I  said.  "  It  is  a  large  camp  fire,  or  per- 
haps the  woods  are  burning." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  said.     "  But  listen!  " 

I  obeyed,  and  heard  a  faint  but  bass  note,  like  an 
imprisoned  wind  groaning  up  a  ravine. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  senator. 

"  A  cannon  shot,"  I  replied,  "  or  rather  several  of 
them." 

"Does  not  that  mean  a  battle?"  he  asked,  with 
visible  uneasiness. 

"  Maybe,"  I  replied  indifferently.  I  had  become 
hardened  by  three  years'  campaigning.  It  was  not 
now  the  sound  of  cannon  shots  to  which  I  objected, 
but  to  cannon  balls. 

"  It  may  be  the  beginning  of  a  great  battle,"  he 
said,  with  increasing  alarm. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  replied  doubtfully. 

And  yet  he  was  right.  It  was  the  first  guns  of  the 
Wilderness — that  awful  battle  amid  the  burning  forests, 
rivalling  Gettysburg  itself  in  desperation  and  slaughter. 

The  distant  rumble  increased,  and  a  dull  red  blur 
appeared  on  the  horizon.  General  Grant  came  to  the 
entrance  of  the  tent  and  looked  intently  at  the  red 
flashes.  Then  he  opened  his  watch  and  glanced  at  it. 
I  was  standing  near  him,  and  I  distinctly  heard  him  say 
to  himself,  "  Meade  is  exactly  on  time."     He  signed  to 


410  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

the  aide  who  held  the  horses  to  lead  them  forward, 
bade  adieu  to  us  with  great  courtesy,  especially  to  Eli- 
nor, mounted,  and  rode  toward  the  spurts  of  fire. 

"  Mr.  Warner,"  said  Mr.  Upton,  "  is  it  not  ad- 
visable for  us  to  withdraw?  I  must  confess  that  I 
am  a  man  of  peace.  I  have  always  opposed  this  wicked 
war." 

"  It's  only  a  skirmish,"  replied  Paul  Warner,  "  and 
it's  far  away."  Mr.  Warner  had  grave  faults,  but  cow- 
ardice was  not  among  them. 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  saw  that  it  was  more  than  a 
skirmish.  The  thunder  of  the  guns  was  still  low  but 
steady,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke  was  gathering  on  the  hori- 
zon. There  were  six  or  seven  ladies  in  our  party,  but 
Elinor  was  the  only  one  who  had  seen  a  battle,  and 
she  alone  remained  calm. 

We  left  the  tent  and  walked  to  a  little  hill  near  by, 
from  the  summit  of  which  we  looked  toward  the  battle- 
field, although  for  a  while  we  saw  only  the  smoke  and 
the  flashes  of  the  firing.  The  country  before  us  was 
covered  with  thickets  and  dwarfed  forests,  and  among 
them  the  combatants  were  hidden.  But  the  struggle 
was  extending  with  great  rapidity,  and  presently  we 
saw  a  battle  line  several  miles  in  length.  The  air  quiv- 
ered with  the  roll  of  the  heavy  guns,  and  we  heard,  too, 
the  distant  rattle  of  the  small  arms.  The  cheeks  of 
the  ladies  began  to  turn  pale. 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  safe  here?"  asked  the  senator 
of  me.     I  was  the  only  soldier  in  the  party. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  it,"  I  could  not  resist  reply- 
ing. The  ladies  were  not  in  hearing  just  at  that  mo- 
ment, and,  moreover,  I  spoke  the  truth. 

I  moved  nearer  to  Elinor,  and  watched  the  rising 
battle.     "Look!"  she   said  suddenly  to  me,  and  her 
hand  pressed  my  arm  with  nervous  force.     We  saw  an 
entire  battery  driven  in  haste  through  the  bushes  not 
half  mile  away.     The  combat  was  moving  much  near 


THE  LAST  OF  A  LATER  ROMAN  411 

The  report  of  heavy  guns  suddenly  came  from  both  left 
and  right,  and  now  we  were  infolded  on  three  sides. 

"  Mr.  Warner,"  I  said,  "  you  must  withdraw  with 
the  ladies  at  once!  " 

I  saw  that  it  was  no  time  to  wait.  The  battle,  with 
one  of  the  abrupt  changes  for  which  no  one  can  account, 
was  rolling  down  upon  us.  The  sudden  retreat  of  col- 
our from  Paul  Warner's  face  showed  that  he  understood 
the  danger. 

We  turned  to  flee,  and  our  way  was  barred  by  horse- 
men, who  emerged  suddenly  from  the  bushes  two  hun- 
dred yards  away  and  came  directly  toward  us.  These 
cavalrymen  rode  in  gray.  The  ladies  cried  out  with 
fear,  and  we  stopped,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  A  score  of  the 
horsemen  raised  their  rifles  and  fired  at  the.  man  who 
led  them,  a  handsome  officer  in  a  bright  uniform.  He 
fell  from  his  horse,  and  the  others,  wheeling  about  as 
suddenly  as  they  had  come,  galloped  away,  disappearing 
in  the  thickets. 

I  ran  toward  the  wounded  man,  attracted  by  the 
sight  of  his  face  as  he  fell,  and  the  others  followed  me. 
He  was  lying  partly  upon  his  side,  and  with  an  in- 
stinctive effort  had  composed  both  his  features  and  his 
dress  before  we  arrived.  It  was  Varian,  dying  from  a 
half  dozen  gunshot  wounds.  His  face  was  pale  from 
weakness  and  loss  of  blood,  but  his  manner  was  as  high 
and  indifferent  as  it  had  ever  been  when  I  knew  him 
in  his  pride.  In  truth,  I  can  not  say  that  I  did  not  see 
him  even  now  in  his  pride.  He  raised  himself  upon  his 
elbow  and  said  to  me: 

"  It  is  our  last  meeting,  Mr.  Kingsford,  and  you 
have  triumphed  completely,  as  I  have  failed  completely. 
Will  you  pardon  me  for  saying  again  that  in  the  begin- 
ning such  an  end  would  have  seemed  improbable?  " 

"  Can't  you  take  the  others  away?  "  I  said  hastily 
to  Mr.  Warner,  and  he  obeyed,  leaving  Elinor  and  me 
27 


412  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

with  Varian.  I  took  off  my  coat,  doubled  it  up,  and 
placed  it  under  his  head.  He  was  too  weak  to  sit  up, 
yet  he  seemed  to  retain  all  his  mental  strength. 

"  You  are  kind,"  he  said,  "  but  why  should  you 
not  be  to  your  defeated  and  dying  opponent?  It  may 
be  that  kindness  to  a  beaten  enemy  is  the  most  exquisite 
of  all  revenges,  because,  having  proved  already  how 
much  you  are  his  superior  in  strength,  you  now  show  to 
him  how  much  greater  and  finer  your  spirit  is  than  his. 
But  I  acquit  you  of  any  such  intention,  Mr.  Kingsford. 
You  and  your  wife  are  wondering  why  I  am  here  in 
such  a  plight,  shot  by  my  own  men.  The  tale  is  brief, 
but  you  may  find  it  instructive.  A  distrust  of  me  has 
been  growing  for  a  long  time  in  the  minds  of  the  Con- 
federate generals,  and  it  has  extended  lately  to  the 
troops.  I  have  been  watched,  and  I  knew  it,  yet  I  was 
not  afraid.  When  this  battle  began  I  led  a  little  troop 
of  cavalry  over  the  hills  and  through  the  thickets  for 
the  express  purpose  of  capturing  you,  Mrs.  Kingsford, 
and  your  husband  too.  On  this  last  day  of  my  life  I 
paid  you  the  finest  compliment  that  I  knew,  neglecting 
a  great  battle  to  devote  special  attention  to  a  non-com- 
batant. A  faithful  spy  had  informed  me  of  your  pres- 
ence here.  I  told  my  men  that  it  was  a  scouting  ex- 
pedition; but  when  they  saw  the  ladies  and  the  tents, 
all  their  suspicions  of  me  seemed  to  them  justified. 
They  thought  that  I  had  led  them  into  the  heart  of  the 
Northern  army,  intending  to  deliver  them  into  your 
hands.    So  they  shot  me  down  and  galloped  away." 

He  spoke  clearly  and  distinctly.  His  pride  and  will 
would  not  suffer  him  to  speak  otherwise,  even  in  his 
last  moments. 

I  co  aid  not  resist  a  feeling  of  sympathy  because 
such  a  man  was  coming  to  such  an  end.  Tears  were 
in  Elinor's  eyes. 

A  faint  smile  flickered  over  Varian's  face. 

"  Eecall  what  I  told  you,  Mr.  Kingsford,"  he  said, 


THE  LAST  OF  A  LATER  ROMAN  413 

"  and  you  will  see  that  it  was  the  truth.  I  belong  to 
the  antique  world,  where  men  were  permitted  to  rise 
above  their  fellows  and  do  whatever  they  chose  if  they 
could  find  the  power.  I  have  tried  to  have  my  way  in 
this  age,  and  you  see  my  end.  Perhaps  I  should  have 
been  a  brilliant  figure  in  old  Eome  at  her  greatest  and 
worst.  But  I  have  always  been  willing  to  pay  the  price 
for  what  I  did  or  tried  to  do,  and  I  do  not  complain 
now.  Would  you  object  to  lifting  my  head  a  little 
higher,  Mr.  Kingsford?  Eemember  that  I  shall  not 
have  the  power  to  do  you  any  more  harm." 

I  raised  his  head.  He  looked  at  Elinor,  and  his  gaze 
became  singularly  soft. 

"  I  trust  you  will  remember,  Mrs.  Kingsford,"  he 
said,  his  voice  growing  weak  at  last,  "  that  I  have — 
always  loved  you  with  my  whole  heart.  Would  you 
kiss  me — just  once?  I  ask  you  in  the  presence  of  your 
husband.     It  would — smooth  my  way." 

Elinor  stooped,  and  her  lips  brushed  his  forehead. 
Then  he  died  quite  peacefully. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE   CALL   OF   THE   PLOUGH 

Shaftoe  and  I  served  to  the  end  of  the  war.  We 
followed  Grant  through  the  shades  of  the  Wilderness, 
the  beginning  of  which  I  saw  in  Varian's  death,  and  we 
were  present  a  few  days  later  at  Spottsylvania,  when 
nearly  forty  thousand  men  fell.  We  saw  the  charge  on 
the  Southern  intrenchments  at  Cold  Harbor,  where 
the  North  lost  twelve  thousand  in  half  an  hour;  we 
were  with  Grant  in  all  the  long  and  ceaseless  hammer- 
ing of  1864,  when  the  iron  general,  choosing  the  only 
way,  poured  forward  his  numbers,  regardless  of  battles 
and  losses,  always  striking  at  his  enemy,  giving  him  no 
rest,  while  Lee,  with  his  dwindling  brigades,  defended 
every  square  foot  of  ground;  and  at  the  last,  when  the 
South  was  crushed,  and  the  great  war  over,  we  entered 
Richmond,  the  Southern  capital,  with  our  comrades. 

There  was  a  little  scene  in  Richmond  after  the  sur- 
render which  had  its  pathetic  side,  but  in  which  gaiety 
then  predominated.  It  was  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Pem- 
broke, and  Sergeant  Thomas  Shaftoe,  U.  S.  A.,  was 
the  host — that  is,  all  except,  Elinor,  Mason,  and  myself, 
were  his  prisoners,  or  virtually  so.  Mrs.  Pembroke  sat 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  saddened  a  little  by  the  down- 
fall of  the  Confederacy,  but  too  happy  over  the  ending 
of  the  war,  and  the  return  of  her  son  from  captivity,  re- 
covered of  his  wound,  to  grieve.  Mary  Pembroke  did 
not  grieve  at  all,  because  De  Courcelles  was  beside  her, 
414 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  PLOUGH        415 

and  it  was  only  a  month  until  their  marriage.  There 
was  Tourville,  just  well  of  his  third  wound,  and  Major 
Titus  Tyler,  as  usual  the  soul  of  dignity,  and  happy  in 
the  conviction  that  the  South  had  never  been  beaten, 
but  "  had  merely  worn  herself  out  beating  the  North." 
It  was  Major  Tyler  and  De  Courcelles  who  did  most  of 
the  talking.  The  Frenchman,  in  particular,  was  full  of 
life  and  joy.  He  was  one  of  the  Southern  soldiers  who 
in  losing  had  won.  Pembroke  at  length  had  all  our 
glasses  filled — with  water,  as  wine  we  had  not — and, 
rising  to  his  feet,  glass  in  hand,  he  said: 

"  Let  us  all  drink,  not  to  the  Lost  Cause,  but  to 
those  who  fought  for  it." 

We  drank,  none  with  a  better  grace  than  Mason 
and  I,  who  had  fought  against  them,  and  we  said  no 
more  on  that  subject. 

Then  we  saw  the  phenomenon  of  three  million  men 
laying  down  their  arms  and  going  back  peacefully  to 
work,  a  war  ended  the  day  the  last  battle  was  fought, 
no  executions  for  rebellion,  no  persecution,  no  revenge 
of  the  conquerors  upon  the  conquered,  no  acts  that 
would  cause  recollections  more  bitter  than  the  war 
itself,  but  a  peace  that  was  a  peace,  in  fact  as  much  as 
in  name.  Nearly  a  million  men  had  perished,  but 
vengeance  was  not  to  be  sought  for  any  one  of  them. 

The  men  who  had  come  four  years  before  at  the 
call  of  the  drum  now  began  to  listen  to  the  call  of  the 
plough.  They  were  tired  of  so  much  war,  of  so  many 
battles,  and  the  long  tales  of  slaughter.  They  believed 
that  enough  blood  had  been  shed  to  drown  any  issue. 
If  one  would  not  listen  to  the  logic  of  all  the  bullets 
fired  in  four  years,  he  must  remain  deaf  to  everything. 
As  for  themselves,  they  had  fought  all  the  old  questions 
to  a  solution.  The  people  who  stayed  at  home  might 
discuss  them  again  if  they  felt  like  it,  but  they,  the 
soldiers,  knew  that  such  things  were  history  now  and  no 
longer  living  problems. 


416  IN  CIKCLING  CAMPS 

They  hated  now  the  sound  of  the  guns,  and  after  so 
long  a  period  of  silence,  the  call  of  the  plough  reached 
them  again,  and  was  pleasant  in  their  ears.  They 
heard  the  soft  slide  of  the  share  as  it  cut  through  the 
earth  and  turned  the  fresh  soil  up  to  the  sun.  They  re- 
membered the  sweet  smell  of  the  corn  lands  in  the 
spring  and  the  yellow  gleam  of  the  harvest  in  the 
autumn.  They  had  seen  enough  of  war,  its  dangers 
and  excitement,  and  they  longed  once  more  for  the 
peace  of  the  fields.  Mostly  farmers,  boys  yet,  the 
plough  called  them  back  to  the  old  work  and  the  old 
task  of  maintaining  old  States  and  building  new  ones. 
Their  feet  kept  time  to  the  call. 

It  was  the  same  with  North  and  South;  the  call 
of  the  plough  reached  both,  and  was  alike  seductive. 
The  long-legged  boys  wished  to  see  what  had  happened 
at  home  since  they  left.  Many  had  never  heard  from 
there  in  all  the  four  years,  and  they  thought  much  of 
the  hills  and  plains  and  forests  which  were  their  birth- 
place. 

They  had  fought  four  years,  and  they  had  made  a 
war  without  parallel,  but  they  were  no  seekers  after 
military  glory,  nor  did  they  want  a  military  rule,  with 
themselves  as  rulers.  They  wished  to  return  to  peace, 
now  that  the  fighting  was  over,  and  have  done  with 
the  sword. 

The  throb  of  the  war-drum  died.  The  sword  and 
bayonet  were  laid  aside,  the  armies  vanished,  and  the 
myriads  faded  into  the  forests  and  the  distant  fields, 
once  more  the  peaceful  builders  of  a  peaceful  republic. 

Elinor  and  I  were  in  Louisville,  on  our  way  home, 
when  Shaftoe  left  us.  We  had  formed  a  great  attach- 
ment for  this  strong,  cheerful  man,  who  asked  so  little 
of  the  world,  and  whose  nature  was  so  simple,  so  honest, 
and  yet  so  deep. 

"Why  do  you  persist  in  this,  Shaftoe?"  I  asked. 
"  Why  do  you  go  out  in  the  wild  Western  country,  on 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  PLOUGH  417 

those  great  dry  plains,  to  serve  as  a  common  soldier, 
to  fight  Indians,  and  perhaps  to  be  killed  and  scalped 
by  them?  " 

"  I  am  going  out  there,"  replied  the  veteran,  with 
his  cheerful  smile,  "  because  I  will  be  more  satisfied  on 
those  plains  fighting  Indians  than  I  will  be  anywhere 
else.  I  learned  long  ago  that  the  happiest  man  is  the 
one  who  is  doing  with  all  his  heart  the  work  that  he 
likes  best  to  do.  Well,  I  am  a  soldier — a  born  one,  I 
think;  not  a  general,  or  a  colonel,  or  a  captain,  but 
a  private;  I  peel  my  own  potatoes.  I  don't  like  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  an  officer;  if  I  were  one,  I'd  be  making 
mistakes  myself  instead  of  having  so  much  satisfaction 
in  talking  about  those  of  other  people.  Besides,  a 
soldier  has  his  uses,  as  the  last  four  years  have  shown." 

"  But  the  work  out  there  is  obscure,  and  the  public 
never  hears  of  it." 

"What  of  that?  A  man  can  learn  his  trade,  even 
if  ten  thousand  people  are  not  looking  on  and  applaud- 
ing, and  there's  a  heap  of  things  yet  that  I  want  to 
know.  I'll  be  with  the  old  regular  army  again,  the 
little  army  that  fights  battles,  and  makes  thousand-mile 
marches,  and  stands  boiling  heat,  and  a  cold  that  freezes 
your  whiskers;  that  knows  what  it  is  in  the  sand  deserts 
to  value  diamonds  less  than  a  little  cold  water;  that 
dies  alone  on  the  endless  plains,  but  always  does  its 
work  while  life  and  muscle  last.  They  are  the  men, 
Henry,  that  I've  lived  my  life  with,  and  I'll  finish  it 
with  them  too.  What  have  I  got  to  complain  of?  I 
do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  sick;  I  sleep  like  an  inno- 
cent baby  when  I  have  the  chance;  I've  the  appetite  of 
a  wolf,  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich,  and  the  strength  of 
most  men.  Besides,  I'll  be  a  master  builder  out  there! 
Think  of  that!  Not  a  mere  builder  of  houses,  or  for- 
tunes, or  reputations,  but  a  builder  of  great  States." 

"  So  you  are  to  be  a  contributor  to  the  wealth  and 
greatness  of  the  nation,  Shaftoe?  " 


418  IN  CIRCLING  CAMPS 

"  That's  so.  But  sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  I'm 
merely  helping  to  roll  up  the  fortune  of  some  Eastern 
millionaire,  who  will  go  off  to  Europe  to  live,  where  his 
children  will  learn  to  sneer  at  the  country  that  pro- 
duced him.  Let  me  have  that  one  little  complaint,  and 
I  don't  even  say  that  I  mean  it.  But  don't  forget  that 
out  in  the  "West  I'll  be  doing  the  work  that  I  love,  and 
it's  a  good  place  to  learn  about  men.  I  think  that  the 
human  race  is  governed  too  much  and  trained  too  little, 
and  maybe  out  there,  in  our  little  old  regular  army,  we 
strike  a  happy  medium." 

"  I  know  you'll  do  it  well,"  I  said. 

We  said  good-bye,  and  the  old  soldier  began  his 
journey  to  the  Great  Plains.  Elinor  and  I  turned 
southward.  We  were  happy  now,  but  we  were  sad,  too, 
for  our  people,  and  I  pitied,  the  South.  The  land  was 
filled  with  widows  and  orphans;  whole  families  had 
perished,  the  rich  were  poor,  the  poor  were  poorer;  but, 
above  all,  the  old  systems  were  gone;  men  must  not 
alone  begin  anew,  but  learn  anew.  The  Southern  race 
stod  bare  and  naked  on  the  bare  and  naked  earth. 

But  we  were  proud  that  the  Union  had  endured 
such  a  strain  and  had  come  out  of  its  trial  greater  and 
stronger  than  ever.  The  old  faith  of  the  millions  had 
been  vindicated. 

Elinor  and  I  did  not  tarry  after  Shaftoe's  farewell, 
but  departed  the  next  day  for  my  grandmother's.  We 
had  not  been  able  to  give  her  the  exact  date  of  our 
coming,  and  when  we  left  the  train  at  the  little  station, 
a  tiny  village  of  a  dozen  houses,  we  walked  down  the 
road  that  gleamed  across  the  country  like  a  long,  white 
ribbon.  It  was  all  familiar,  precisely  as  it  was  when  we 
left  it — the  road,  the  hills,  the  trees,  the  houses;  the 
fences  even  were  not  changed;  the  war  had  gone 
around  it;  our  own  State  was  harmed  but  little,  and 
this  portion  not  at  all. 

We  forgot  now  all  the  war  and  its  destruction,  re- 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  PLOUGH        419 

membering  only  that  it  was  peace,  and  that  we  were 
together. 

"  Is  it  not  beautiful?  "  said  Elinor. 

We  walked  on.  It  was  June.  The  beautiful  coun- 
try rolled  far  away  in  gentle  waves;  the  grass  was  like 
velvet,  and  the  fruit  trees  bloomed  in  cones  of  white 
and  pink. 

"  Will  my  aunt  forgive  us? "  asked  Elinor  pres- 
ently. 

"  She  has  done  so  already,"  I  replied. 

I  had  seen  Mrs.  Maynard  once  and  briefly  in  Eich- 
mond  after  the  surrender,  and  while  she  was  not  genial, 
she  accepted  the  inevitable.  She  was  now  at  her  home, 
and  we  would  visit  her  soon,  although  Madam  Arlington 
must  come  first. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  we  saw  through  the  trees 
the  roof  of  my  grandmother's  house.  It  was  un- 
changed; the  cedars  had  not  lost  a  bough;  the  same 
old  peacock  strutted  on  the  lawn  and  spread  his  gor- 
geous tail  in  rivalry  with  the  sun. 

I  think  that  some  prescience  warned  my  grand- 
mother of  our  coming.  She  stood  upon  the  portico, 
with  William  Penn  just  behind  her,  where  the  last  rays 
of  the  dying  day  shone  upon  her  strong  old  face.  Then 
she  met  us,  her  eyes  full  of  gladness,  saying  only: 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  come  back." 


THE    END 


"A  FRESH  AND  CHARMING  NOVEL/' 

The  Last  Lady  of  Mulberry. 

A  Story  of  Italian  New  York.  By  Henry  Wil- 
ton Thomas.  Illustrated  by  Emil  Pollak.  nmo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

**  By  far  the  most  complete  and  satisfying  description  that 
has  been  given  of  life  in  the  Italian  quarter  of  New  York.  .  .  . 
Incidentally  a  very  good  novel,  reasonable  in  its  purpose  and 
character  drawing,  intricate  in  plot,  and  dramatic  in  its  action." 
— Philadelphia  Times. 

"A  breezy  book.  It  *  goes '  from  start  to  finish,  and  the  ac- 
tion moves  in  a  rich  atmosphere,  albeit  that  of  the  poorest  of 
New  York's  alien  colonies.  .  .  .  The  best  study  of  Italian  life 
in  New  York,  and  of  its  special  environment  that  has  ever  been 
drawn." — New  York  Herald. 

"  Through  a  very  cleverly  contrived  course  of  events  the 
complex  life  of  the  colony  shines  out  in  most  resplendent  pro- 
portions. .  .  .  The  story  is  an  exceedingly  clever  piece  of  hu- 
morous writing." — Pittsburg  Chronicle-Telegraph. 

"  The  author  has  evidently  made  a  close  study  of  the  Italian 
quarter  and  its  people  and  customs,  and  has  utilized  his  knowl- 
edge to  best  advantage." — Denver  Republican. 

"Character  drawing  and  humor  of  an  excellent  quality." — 
Rochester  Herald. 

"  Richly  humorous,  '  The  Last  Lady  of  Mulberry  '  is  one 
of  the  most  enjoyable  little  romances  we  have  recently  read.  It 
presents  a  picture  of  the  Little  Italy  known  in  all  our  larger  cities 
in  a  way  that  is  more  effective  than  any  number  of  serious  dis- 
sertations." — Providence  News. 

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By  ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FOWLER. 

JUST  PUBLISHED. 

The  Farringdons. 

A  Novel.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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"  Miss  Fowler  makes  her  own  audience,  which,  large  as  it  is  in  England, 
must  be  even  larger  in  this  country.  There  is  a  deeper  note  in  this  story 
than  any  she  has  yet  sounded.  .  .  .  '  The  Farringdons  '  is,  above  all  else, 
a  proclamation  to  the  world  that  the  religion  which  Christ  brought  to  hu- 
manity is  a  living  power,  undiminished  in  strength,  the  mainspring  of  the 
actions  and  aspirations  of  millions  of  Anglo-Saxons.  "—New  York  Mail  and 
Express. 

"  A  book  of  intense  interest." — Springfield  Union. 

"  Its  whole  atmosphere  is  that  of  a  June  morning.  ...  It  is  full  of  crisp 
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strong  undercurrent  of  wholesome  and  high-minded  philosophy." — Chicago 
Tribune. 

"  Sparkling  dialogue,  careful  character  drawing,  and  admirable  descrip- 
tions are  all  here,  but  above  all  we  have  real  people,  and  teal  people  who 
are  interesting.  The  book  is  another  evidence  of  the  high  abilities  of  the 
writer." — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby. 

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a  remarkable  success.'' — Roston  Transcript. 

"  An  excellent  novel,  clever  and  witty  enough  to  be  very  amusing,  and 
serious  enough  to  provide  much  food  for  thought." — London  Daily  Tele- 
graph. 

A  Double  Thread. 

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DAVID    HARUM. 


A  Story  of  American   Life.     By  Edward  Noyes 
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"  We  have  in  the  character  of  David  Harum  a  perfectly 
clean  and  beautiful  study,  one  of  those  true  natures  that  every 
one,  man,  woman,  or  child,  is  the  better  for  knowing." — The 
World,  Cleveland. 

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merit." — The  Tribune,  Chicago. 

"A  thoroughly  interesting  bit  of  fiction,  with  a  well-defined 
plot,  a  slender  but  easily  followed  '  love  '  interest,  some  bold  and 
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"The  newsboys  on  the  street  can  talk  of  *  David  Harum,' 
but  scarcely  a  week  ago  we  heard  an  intelligent  girl  of  fifteen,  in 
a  house  which  entertains  the  best  of  the  daily  papers  and  the 
weekly  reviews,  ask,  'Who  is  Kipling?'" — The  Literary 
World,  Boston. 

"  A  masterpiece  of  character  painting.  In  David  Harum, 
the  shrewd,  whimsical,  horse-trading  country  banker,  the  author 
has  depicted  a  type  of  character  that  is  by  no  means  new  to  fic- 
tion, but  nowhere  else  has  it  been  so  carefully,  faithfully,  and 
realistically  wrought  out." — The  Herald,  Syracuse. 

"We  give  Edward  Noyes  Westcott  his  true  place  in  Amer- 
ican letters — placing  him  as  a  humorist  next  to  Mark  Twain,  as 
a  master  of  dialect  above  Lowell,  as  a  descriptive  writer  equal  to 
Bret  Harte,  and,  on  the  whole,  as  a  novelist  on  a  par  with  the 
best  of  those  who  live  and  have  their  being  in  the  heart  of  hearts 
of  American  readers.  If  the  author  is  dead — lamentable  fact — 
his  book  will  live." — Philadelphia  Item. 

D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,      NEW     YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  CY  WARMAN. 


Snow  on  the  Headlight. 

A  Story  of  the  Great  Burlington  Strike.     I  2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

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alone  is  a  practical  railroad  man,  who  knows  the  work,  and  has  done  it,  in  all 
its  details." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Plenty  of  close-range  photographs,  interior  views,  of  the  great  Burlington 
strike  are  to  be  found  in  Cy  Warman' s  book." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  It  has  the  great  virtue  of  being  a  plain  story  plainly  told  by  one  who 
knows.  Whatever  other  impression  it  may  convey  to  the  reader,  it  conveys 
most  strongly  the  impression  of  truth.  And  this  plain  truth,  told  in  a  plain 
way,  is  a  terrible  thing.  One  can  feel  all  the  way  through  that  half  the  tale — 
and  perhaps  the  worst  half — is  left  untold,  yet  such  as  stands  in  print  is 
sufficient,  and  to  the  reader  who  cares  for  something  more  than  the  superficial 
adventurous  incident  of  the  book  it  will  not  be  without  its  instructive 
influence." — Den-ver  Republican. 

"  Told  with  all  the  freshness  and  vividness  of  an  eyewitness." — Philadelphia 
Call. 

"Will  be  read  with  interest  by  all  railroad  men." — Galesburg  (III.)  Mail. 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 

Illustrated.      i2mo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Far  more  interesting  than  the  average  novel.  .  .  .  Mr.  Warman's 
volume  makes  us  hear  and  feel  the  rush  of  modern  civilization.  It  gives  us 
also  the  human  side  of  the  picture — the  struggles  of  the  frontiersman  and  his 
family,  the  dismay  and  cruel  wrath  of  the  retreating  savage,  the  heroism  of 
the  advance  guard  of  the  railway  builders,  and  the  cutthroat  struggles  of  com- 
peting lines.  He  does  not  deal  greatly  with  statistics,  but  the  figures  he  uses 
help  make  up  the  stunning  effect  of  gigantic  enterprise.  There  is  not  a  dull 
page  in  the  book." — Neiv  Tori  Evening  Post. 

"  Intensely  interesting — a  history  that  reads  like  a  romance,  and  compared 
with  whose  marvelous  story  indeed  most  modern  romances  will  seem  spiritless 
and  tame." — Charleston  Neivs  and  Courier. 

"Worthy  to  stand  on  the  same  shelf  with  Hough's  Story  of  the  Cowboy." 
— Milwaukee  Journal. 

D.     APPLETON      AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


BOOKS   BY   FRANK   T.   BULLEN. 
The  Log  of  a  Sea- Waif. 

Being  Recollections  of  the  First  Four   Years  of  my  Sea   Life. 
Illustrated.      Uniform  Edition,      izmo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  brilliant  author  of  "The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot"  and  "Idylls  of  the 
Sea"  presents  in  this  new  work  the  continuous  story  of  the  actual  experiences 
of  his  first  four  years  at  sea.  In  graphic  and  picturesque  phrases  he  has  sketched 
the  events  of  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  to  Bombay  and  the  Coromandel  coast, 
to  Melbourne  and  Rangoon.  Nothing  could  be  of  more  absorbing  interest 
than  this  wonderfully  vivid  account  of  foks'l  humanity,  and  the  adventures  and 
strange  sights  and  experiences  attendant  upon  deep-sea  voyages.  It  is  easy  to  see 
in  this  book  an  English  companion  to  our  own  "Two  Years  before  the  Mast." 

Idylls  of  the  Sea. 

l2mo.      Cloth,  $1.25. 

"The  'deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery'  which  Kipling  found  in  Frank  T. 
Bullen's  '  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot "  is  appreciable  again  in  this  literary  mate's 
new  book,  'Idylls  of  the  Sea.'  We  feel  ourselves  tossed  with  him  at  the 
mercy  of  the  weltering  elements,"  etc. — Philadelphia  Record. 

"  Amplifies  and  intensifies  the  picture  of  the  sea  which  Mr.  Bullen  had 
already  produced.  .  .  .  Calm,  shipwreck,  the  surface  and  depths  of  the  sea, 
the  monsters  of  the  deep,  superstitions  and  tales  of  the  sailors — all  find  a  place 
in  this  strange  and  exciting  book." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot, 

Round  the  World  after  Sperm  Whales.      Illustrated.       1 2mo. 
Cloth,  #1.50. 

"It  is  immense — there  is  no  other  word.  I've  never  read  anything  that 
equals  it  in  its  deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery,  nor  do  I  think  that  any  book  before 
has  so  completely  covered  the  whole  business  of  whale  fishing,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  given  such  real  and  new  sea  pictures.  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily. 
It's  a  new  world  you've  opened  the  door  to." — Rudyard  Kipling. 

"  Written  with  racy  freedom  of  literary  expression  and  luxuriant  abundance 
of  incident,  so  that  '  The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot '  becomes  a  story  of  fascinating 
vividness  which  thrills  the  reader  and  amuses  him.  The  volume  is  no  less  en- 
thralling than  '  Two  Years  before  the  Mast,'  and  higher  praise  can  not  be 
accorded  to  a  story  of  the  sea.  ...  A  book  of  such  extraordinary  merit  as 
seldom  comes  to  hand." — Philadelphia  Press. 

D.     APPLETON     AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


FOR  NATURE   LOVERS  AND  ANGLERS. 

Familiar  Fish:    Their   Habits  and 
Capture. 

A  Practical  Book  on  Fresh- Water  Game  Fish. 
By  Eugene  McCarthy.  With  an  Introduction 
by  Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan,  President  of  Leland 
Stanford  Junior  University,  and  numerous  Illus- 
trations.     i2mo.     Cloth. 

This  informing  and  practical  book  describes  in  a  most  inter- 
esting fashion  the  habits  and  environment  of  our  familiar  fresh- 
water game  fish,  including  anadromous  fish  like  the  salmon  and 
sea  trout.  The  life  of  a  fish  is  traced  in  a  manner  very  interest- 
ing to  Nature  lovers,  while  the  simple  and  useful  explanations  of 
the  methods  of  angling  for  different  fish  will  be  appreciated  by 
fishermen  old  and  young.  As  one  of  the  most  experienced  of 
American  fishermen,  Mr.  McCarthy  is  able  to  speak  with  au- 
thority regarding  salmon,  trout,  ouananiche,  bass,  pike,  and  pick- 
erel, and  other  fish  which  are  the  object  of  the  angler's  pursuit. 
His  clear  and  practical  counsel  as  to  fly-casting,  and  rods  and 
tackle  and  their  use,  and  his  advice  as  to  outfits  and  the  various 
details  of  camp  life,  render  his  book  a  most  useful  companion  for 
all  sportsmen  and  campers.  Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan  has  read 
the  manuscript,  and  has  lent  the  weight  of  his  approval  by  writ- 
ing an  introduction.  The  book  is  profusely  illustrated  with  pic- 
tures and  serviceable  diagrams. 

D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 

49 

c.l 


